


Black Squadron

by Azalea_Scroggs



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars: Rebellion Era - All Media Types
Genre: (unknowingly in any case -evil chuckle-), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Deaths, Emotional Manipulation, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Life on a Ship, Lots of Flying, Space Battles, Strangulation, TIE pilot Luke, Torture, War Is Not Pretty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2018-10-15 01:40:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 104,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10547872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azalea_Scroggs/pseuds/Azalea_Scroggs
Summary: When Luke Lars, a gifted young pilot recently graduated from the Imperial Academy, is assigned to Darth Vader's personal TIE fighter squadron, it is a dream come true: ever since he was a child, the young man's one aspiration has been to fly. But life on a Star Destroyer is not all the bliss he thought it would be. Between falling in with his squad mates and figuring where his loyalties lie, Luke has his work cut out for him. Especially with the Dark Lord of the Sith holding him under such close scrutiny...





	1. Arrival

All was quiet in the space above Ank Kit'aar. The Imperial Star Destroyer _Devastator_ was slowly drifting in the planet's orbit, stationed on the border of its gravitational field. She stood watch in the silence of the void, her white paint shining under the sun's rays, a looming but still presence in this remote corner of the Mid Rim.

Suddenly, the peace was disturbed by a _Theta_ class shuttle exiting hyperspace. She was set on a direct course towards the huge battleship, hailing her as soon as she came in range.

"Imperial Star Destroyer _Devastator,_ this is shuttle _Corintium_ requesting permission to dock."

A few seconds passed before the answer came through.

"Shuttle _Corintium_ , transmit the clearance code for access."

"Transmission commencing," replied the pilot as he gave the command.

For a moment, there was no sound in the cockpit, other than the whirring of engines and the buzzing of high speed transmission. After it was transferred, the channel reopened, and the same officer spoke again.

"Shuttle _Corintium_ , permission to dock granted. Proceed to deck B-49, aft bay."

The shuttle continued on her path, and positioned herself under the other starship's large belly. Slowly, two lids separated to create a gap in _Devastator_ 's hull, like a wide mouth opening and swallowing the smaller ship, closing only once she was taken inside it.

_Corintium_ made her way in a docking bay buzzing with activity, closely monitored by duty officers. Pilots were running, maintenance workers attending crafts, various commanders yelling orders at the soldiers, and stormtroopers patrolling, keeping an eye out for any suspicious behaviour in the well-oiled machine of the Imperial Navy. Without paying attention to any of this, she landed on the deck, her engines stopping as her latch opened to let out her passengers.

Black uniform neatly pressed, cover firmly jammed on his dark blond hair, his bag on one shoulder, Luke descended the shuttle's ramp among the hundred other new recruits pouring into the hangar, puffing his chest out to conceal his nervousness. His sharp blue eyes were wandering across the ship, burning with curiosity as he took every small detail in. The sheer size of the bay was overwhelming, and there were so many things to see it was hard to be anything but completely enthralled.

He had studied the setting of a regular Star Destroyer at length, but setting foot into one for the first time was something else entirely.

So taken was he in his contemplation, he nearly failed to notice the purposeful mechanic who practically ran into him.

“Watch where ya goin',” the man said, throwing him an annoyed look.

“Sorry,” Luke mumbled in response.

But the worker was already away. The young man sighed, feeling a bit lost. He was the only one of his promotion to be assigned to _Devastator_ , and he couldn't help a sting of loneliness, having to confront the hugeness of the Imperial flagship all by himself. Privately, he wondered if any of his friends were in the same situation, trying to make sense of the reality of the Navy without quite knowing whom to turn to.

For a moment, his thoughts wandered towards Biggs, his childhood best friend, whose support had finally helped him convince his family to let him apply to the Academy, and with whom he'd basically been inseparable in the two years that their training lasted. If only he'd been with him now, he would undoubtedly find his way without any problem, all the while teasing Luke for being so impressible.

He put these musings away, unwilling to dwell on his worry for his friend, whom he missed dearly. _Right, find a deck officer,_ he remembered the instructions that had been given to them upon departure from the Academy. A glance down at the datapad that contained his orders brought back a smile on his face. He was going to be a pilot. At last.

Scanning the docking bay for familiar faces, he managed to spot some of the other people he'd seen aboard the shuttle, and jogged towards them, figuring they all had to go to the same point before being redirected to their stations. Indeed, they briefly stopped in front of a man in his early thirties with a serious look on his face, exchanged a few words with him, then bowed and went on their way just as Luke approached.

“Ensign Luke Lars, reporting for duty, sir,” he said, saluting with his right hand, his orders firmly kept in his left.

The officer saluted back, and Luke handed him his datapad.

“You're being assigned to the 61st squadron,” he said as he typed a signature code into the orders sheet, then gave it back to the young man. “Down this hall, take the second on your right, section 928. You're expected in the command room.”

Luke thanked him, then walked away, not certain he could find his path through the maze of corridors that formed the innards of the Star Destroyer.

Fortunately, his instructions had been clear enough. After only a few minutes of wandering, Luke stepped in a room that he was confident was the right place. Its walls were grey, like those of the rest of the ship, with a couple of unlit screens hanging from them. There was no furniture but a holographic console in the middle of the room, with place for about a dozen people to stand around it. An officer was standing there, studying some reports, and turned towards him when he heard him enter. He was a lieutenant, a bit taller than Luke, with dark brown hair and a strict but somewhat soft air about him. The young man saluted and introduced himself.

“Ah, Ensign Lars,” he distractedly said. “I'm Lieutenant Tanbris, we've been expecting you.”

He then seemed to look him over more closely, and a frown appeared on his face as his eyes roamed over his figure. Luke remained at perfect attention, doing his best not to show his unease.

“How old are you, Ensign?” he finally asked.

“I'm eighteen standard, sir,” Luke answered, a bit puzzled by the question.

Lt. Tanbris' eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“Fresh out of the Academy, then?”

“Yes, sir, I just graduated a few days ago. Why?”

An uncomfortable second passed, then Lt. Tanbris's face relaxed when he looked back at Luke, as if shaken from a thought.

“Nothing,” he replied. “This is only unexpected. I know we've been in cruel lack of new blood lately, but... Never mind. Ensign Phennir will be arriving in a moment to show you around before your first shift.”

Luke nodded, looking around while Lt. Tanbris went back to his reports. It would have been nice to have somewhere to sit: he felt rather awkward, waiting like this.

“Don't worry,” Lt. Tanbris advised him, without looking up from his work. “He is nothing to be afraid of.”

Luke muttered a thanks, a bit annoyed at himself that his nervousness had been spotted so easily. It wasn't as though he was _afraid,_ just incredibly impatient. He couldn't wait to learn his duties, get in the cockpit and fly like he'd waited to do for years now.

Flying had always come naturally to him. When they were younger, he and Biggs used to race madly through the canyons of Tatooine, pulling stunts that frightened their group of friends, who didn't understand how exhilarating were the speed and the agility, the ability to move through the air like nothing held you back. Nothing else had ever given Luke that feeling of absolute freedom and happiness, and very quickly, he'd decided that was what he wanted to do for a living. He yearned to leave the planet, to see the galaxy and fly among the stars.

But this desire had another source as well, a more secret one, that Luke rarely spoke about, and only to the people he felt closest to. His father had been a pilot, before dying at the end of the Clone Wars, shortly before his birth, and the young man held an undying fascination for him. His whole childhood had been spent with this unexplainable longing to know him: did he have the same blond hair, blue eyes and restlessness as he had, did he also laugh in pure bliss when flying, had he looked at the sky like he did and want nothing else than take off to meet it? The stories he made up had always involved him somehow, and he'd wanted to make him proud, from wherever he was.

Now that he was older, Luke had finally accepted that his parent was gone, never to come back, and that his grief for him would only hold him down. However, it didn't help a stray thought to wander to his father from time to time. This was one of these moments, as he let himself wonder what he would think, seeing him become what he'd always wanted to be. It was a heart warming thought, and he smiled, feeling as though the universe was only waiting for him to apply his mark on it.

He was pulled out of it by an unknown voice.

“Care to share what's so funny?”

He swiftly turned his head towards the sound. A man with black hair and broad shoulders was looking at him, or rather looking him up and down. His arms were crossed, his eyes held a calculating spark despite the careless smirk on his lips, and distrust was obvious on his angular features. Before Luke could answer, Lt. Tanbris stepped in.

“Ensign Phennir, this is Luke Lars, your new wing mate and squadron member. He just arrived on board and needs to be shown around.”

Phennir's smile fell as he stared at Luke.

“You're a kid,” he said, not bothering to hide his contempt.

Luke's pride flared at the easy dismissal, and he was unable to suppress a glare.

“Yeah, I was told,” he casually retorted. “So what?”

“Kids don't end up in Black Squadron,” the other continued. “We're not Flight School.”

“Tell that to my superiors,” Luke snapped. “Not like I'd have chosen to fly with the likes of you by myself!”

He could feel the tension mounting in the other man, see his fists tightening, but he didn't back off an inch, incensed. The nerve of him! He'd show him he could fly, he was probably better than him by a few parsecs, anyway –

“Gentlemen, please calm down,” Lt. Tanbris intervened before their argument could turn into something nastier. “We are on a warship, not in a cantina. Ensign Phennir, I believe you are soon to be on patrol. I highly suggest you acquaint your wing mate with the work before the both of you take off.”

Phennir's expression darkened, but he uncrossed his arms and reluctantly looked away from Luke to address Lt. Tanbris.

“Yes, sir,” he said with strained politeness, before turning once more to Luke. “Come, FNG. Let's show you how things go around here. By the way, name's Chaser.”

Before Luke had time to react in any way, he stormed off, and the younger man had to hurry to catch up with him, gritting his teeth in irritation. What a stroke of luck, to be paired off with such a moron! The man's arrogance seemed to have no boundaries. However, right now, he was stuck with him, and he'd be blasted before he'd let him prevent him from enjoying the job of his dreams, even if he had to run a hundred miles just not to fall behind and get lost.

“Here's where we debrief, here's where we have time off, and here's where we bunk,” Chaser said, roughly showing him a number of unrecognisable doors Luke was certain he couldn't find back on his own, before taking him in a room with a dozen well made beds. “And here's your locker. I suggest you put your stuff in here quick because we've got a tight schedule.”

Luke only had time to hastily lock his things up, because Chaser was already going away.

“Hey!” he protested, before running once more to his level.

Once he was next to him, he glared at him, thoroughly fed up.

“You know, you're suppose to _show_ me around, not _drag_ me,” he said.

Chaser gave him a wide grin, which infuriated Luke even further.

“Too bad if you don't like it, FNG. That's how it is.”

“Well I'll show you how it is when we get in space,” Luke answered, now really pissed, before noticing once more the huge smile on Chaser's face, and frowning. The older man was just baiting him, he suddenly realised, and he was walking right into it. Well, two could play this game, he decided.

“What's that ridiculous nickname anyway?” he retorted much more lightly, with just a touch of disdain. “Not all that fun. I had better ones back home.”

Chaser seemed to catch on.

“Stands for “Flying New Guy”, if you want to know. That's what we name all our new recruits until we find them a more suitable call sign, and you'd better watch your mouth if you don't wanna end up as “Scrawny” 'cause that'd fit you like a glove. You even know what a call sign is?”

Luke rolled his eyes exaggeratedly.

“Please, I'm not as hopeless as _you_ were when you began.”

Chaser actually let out a laugh this time.

“You've got a sharp tongue, if nothing else,” he said, before suddenly turning a bit more sober. “If I can give you a piece of advice, it's that you shouldn't display it too much around Black Leader.”

Luke's eyebrows shot up, surprised by the change of tone. What was he playing at now? Was that an attempt to intimidate him? Because it was pretty weak, and Luke certainly wasn't about to be frightened away by horror stories.

“Your Black Leader doesn't scare me any more than you do,” he lightly said.

Chaser threw him an incredulous glance.

“You don't even know who he is, do you? Or are you just completely daft?”

Luke frowned, more and more lost as he understood his squad mate was serious. There was a reverence in his voice, a fear even, that was completely genuine.

“What are you talking about?”

“You ever heard of Darth Vader?”

Luke slowly nodded, a cold feeling taking hold of his stomach. Despite growing up on a backwater desert planet, tales of the black cyborg had come to his ears, and he didn't think there was anybody in the galaxy who ignored who the Emperor's frightful enforcer was. Naturally, the stories had been even wilder at the Academy, and Luke wasn't quite sure what to believe and what not. No one knew whether he was human or droid; some even said he was some kind of bloodthirsty alien. He was reputed to have wiped out all Jedi from the Empire single-handedly, possessing the same wicked powers as they did. A single swipe of his scarlet blade or a mere gesture of his hand was enough to send you to the ground, dead.

Chaser rightfully took the expression on his face as a positive answer.

“Well he's our squad leader,” he went on. “He doesn't fly with us all that often, what with all his other duties, but when he does, you better fall in line, because he doesn't tolerate mistakes. There's a reason we're only the best of the best here. That being said, most of the things that go around about him are way exaggerated.”

His reassurances, however, didn't manage to ease the knot that had tied itself in Luke's guts, despite his fierce efforts to deny it. This was ridiculous. He could fly just fine, and besides, it's not like the Empire could afford to kill off a pilot they'd just formed, especially one they had deemed good enough to put under Darth Vader's command.

But just as he thought that, he found a little voice laughing at him. TIE fighter pilots were expendable, as he'd been reminded many times during his training. Certainly more than captains and admirals, whom Vader had no qualms murdering, if these things were even true...

As discreetly as he could, for he didn't want his squad mate to know how much he was rattled, Luke took a deep breath. How by the stars had he ended up in Darth Vader's squadron?

“C'mon. We got to get you a flight suit.”

Chaser headed once again off ahead of Luke with a mere wave, but this time he at least had the decency to stop a fraction of a second enough for the younger man to shake off his gloomy thoughts and actually walk at his side.

The room where he led him was fitted with a large rail on which hung many black flight suits of different sizes, all identical, with the Imperial crest on their sleeve. The pilot pressed a button that made the hangers rotate on the rail, then unhook a suit and casually flung it at Luke.

“Try that on, it's the smallest we have. Gloves and boots are in the cupboard,” he said, before taking gear for himself, and pressing another button that opened the bottom of the device, where helmets and oxygen tanks were stocked. He then took off his uniform jacket and began donning his gear with fluid and practised movements.

Luke hastily imitated him. The suit was the right size, and he managed to find a pair of pristine gloves and shining boots as well. He was fiddling with the last fastenings of his tank when Chaser turned towards him.

“You ready?”

“You bet,” Luke replied with enthusiasm.

Chaser flashed him a grin, then put his helmet on his head, clipping the oxygen tubes to it.

“Then let's get in the beasts.”


	2. Take-Off

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the kudos, bookmarks, and comments to this story! I am surprised and thrilled by the amazing response. Here's the second chapter, I hope you enjoy it!

Helmets on their heads, they ran along the flight deck Luke had just left, heading this time towards the fighters, where a tech was working on their crafts. Chaser stopped by the command officer on deck and saluted him, while Luke hurried to do the same.

“Black Four and Five, coming to take the shift, Commander,” said Chaser.

The commander nodded.

“No special conditions reported. Keep watch on outer space rather than planetside. Move along.”

Chaser saluted once more, then made his way to the gantry above the ships, closely followed by Luke. A surge of excitement took hold of the young man as he nimbly climbed down into the small cockpit, the hatch closing above him with a hiss. He lost no time in pressing the power-up stud, pulling a few levers while doing a rapid check-up of the levels of energy, ion engines, balance, radio, and laser cannons. All control lights were green.

He was just finishing his checks when Chaser's voice rang over the comm.

“Black Five, this is Black Four for a transmission test, do you read me?”

“Loud and clear, Black Four,” Luke answered.

“Good. Prepare for launch. Four out.”

“Copy. Five out,” the young man replied, unable to shake off his grin. There were a few more exchanges between him and Launch Control, then his ship began to move towards the bay doors. Out of the corner of his eye, Luke saw Chaser's own craft heading in the same direction as his, crossing the atmospheric shield to reach the area of the bay that was being emptied of all air by the pumps.

His hands on the controls and feet on the pedals, he closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, preparing for the moment his fighter would be launched in the void. He tried to concentrate to remember the advice that had been given to him back at the Academy, but his mind was running too fast for that. The confinement of the ship was comforting: he felt in his place, invincible and free, and knowing this was one of the most dangerous jobs in the universe changed nothing to the fact that this was where he was meant to be.

Slowly, the doors of the bay opened, revealing the pitch-black void spreading beyond them.

“Launch planned in four... three... two... one... go!”

As soon as the signal rang, Luke pushed on the throttle pedals to propel his craft forward, deftly manoeuvring it out of the bay and into space. As always, the first rush of acceleration took him at the pit of his stomach to push him in the back of his seat, and he laughed, delighted by the sensation. The darkness was all around him, embracing him, so compelling in its mysterious infinity. He made a few spins, purely for the joy of it: the controls were incredibly reactive, a mere brush of the yoke sending the craft darting in the right direction. Luke felt as though he was controlling it with his mind rather than with his body.

“You done playing, Five?” he heard Chaser say through the radio. “We've got a job to do.”

“Affirmative, Four,” Luke hastily answered. “What are we doing?”

“Just plain old security patrol. We roam 'round the ship and make sure nothing unwelcome goes through. You cover for me.”

“Okay.”

Luke positioned himself behind Chaser's ship, watching for any threat that could come from outer space and making sure none would manage to attack his squad mate. Chaser was flying steadily and in more or less straight lines, and Luke soon found himself champ at the bit for a little action. Nevertheless, he did his best never to stray from his course, dutifully staying at Chaser's back.

The other must have taken pity on him, because his voice soon made itself heard again.

“Black Five, this is Black Four. How does some manoeuvring and element formations sound, while still keeping an eye out?”

Luke didn't lose an instant to answer.

“Sounds great, Four.”

“Copy that. We'll go easy at first, just stay behind me.”

Before long Chaser began to take him through a series of figures and formations, starting, like he promised, with rather effortless things, then proceeding to test Luke's reactivity a bit further. Luke complied to the exercise with great pleasure, never failing to take his leader's instructions, soaring in space at his side, before and behind him, while still watching out for him, and they whirled and roamed together with ease. As much as he enjoyed showing what he could do, Luke found himself slowly tuning into Chaser's flying style, understanding the way he moved and predicting his next actions with more and more accuracy.

He was nearly disappointed when the other called it off and told him to return to standard patrolling. However, he didn't have time to regret it all that much, for a few minutes later, they got a radio call telling them they were being relieved and ordering them back to deck.

Return to normal gravity was a bit of an adjustment, and it took Luke a few seconds to regain his balance. Chaser, however, didn't show any such trouble as he climbed down from his craft and took off his helmet to offer Luke an unabashed smile.

“That was not bad at all for a first time, FNG,” he said. “We may make a good team after all.”

“Thanks,” Luke replied. “I really enjoyed this. We should do it again next time.”

Chaser chuckled.

“Too hungry for your own good, I see. You're gonna be a real pilot in no time. Just watch your coordination and try to concentrate better – wasn't always easy to catch you in the middle of all your bright-eyed twists and twirls. You might want to change that, in battle that makes the difference between life and death.”

Luke nodded, happy with Chaser's compliments and still very hyped by the outing. He could still recall in the most precise detail the way his craft and his body had reacted to each other, the feeling of being so small in the middle of the universe, yet having it so close it belonged to him. He already longed to go back: he'd spend his entire life out there if he could.

A nudge in his side tore him from his wistful contemplation of the launch doors.

“Come on, stars-head. Lunch time. Get a move on or there won't be anything left to eat.”

It was only at that moment that Luke realised how famished he was. He hadn't eaten anything since leaving Prefsbelt IV he wasn't sure how many hours ago, and there had been so much happening since then he felt he could swallow an entire bantha.

Chaser and he went through the grey corridors, lower into the ship, to go to the low-grading officers' mess hall. There were but a few people there, about fifty perhaps: the soldiers' lunch time was entirely dependable on one's duties and shift timetables, so it was hardly ever full. They stopped by the buffet to take their meal – some sort of stew, Luke wasn't sure what it was exactly, then headed to a table where five people were already eating.

“Chaser!” a thin and wiry red-haired man with a dry smile on his lips called, prompting the pilot to sit down next to him. Luke took the seat in front of the other man, earning a quick glance from him before he turned his attention to Chaser again. “You're late. That's never the case. What happened? Did your shift change?”

Chaser waved his hand dismissively.

“Nothin' happened. What do you want to happen in this dry corner of the galaxy? Nope, just had to pick up the new kid here before going.”

All heads turned to Luke, who did his best not to shift under the attention.

“Hi,” he said.

“So you're our f'ing new guy?” the man next to him said, observing him sharply. He had light brown hair and intense eyes, and his face looked a little like a toad's.

“Yes, I'm Luke Lars,” Luke answered. “Nice to meet you.”

“You don't look like much,” the other said, before turning away from him and getting back to his meal.

“Don't mind Qorl,” Chaser told a confused Luke. “He's an amazing pilot, but what he's got in space he lacks in social skills. You can't be gifted in everything.”

He then proceeded to introduce Luke to all the others: there was Mauler, a tall, muscular man with a bionic eye who was Darth Vader's wingman and the one who led them whenever the Sith Lord was absent, Backstabber, Chaser's neighbour, Dark Curse, the oldest of them all, still strong but carrying his age in his eyes, and Vil, a confident-looking Corellian that couldn't be more than a few years older than Luke. The young man took it in stride, determined to remember them all, while Chaser launched in conversation with Backstabber.

“So, Luke, is it?” asked Vil from across the table. “Where do you come from?”

“Tatooine,” Luke answered.

Vil made a face.

“That's tough. Never been there, but I've heard from a few people who have. The Hutts don't make life too difficult?”

Luke shrugged, turning his spoon in his stew.

“You get used to it,” he answered carelessly. “Like to everything. You find ways to resist. Besides, they mostly keep to the towns. Simple moisture farmers like my aunt and uncle, they left us alone most of the time, except when they decided to take an outrageous amount of our crops for themselves. I wasn't sorry to leave that dustball of a planet.”

“Your aunt and uncle?” asked Vil, tilting his head in curiosity, but not asking any further. Luke understood his meaning, however.

“My parents are dead. My mother died when I was born, and my father was killed in the war, he was a pilot as well, for the Republic.”

“I'm sorry,” Vil said, watching him more closely, a smile tugging at his lips. “You know, you don't really look like a clone.”

Luke blinked, surprised by the unexpected comment.

“What?”

“Well, most of the Grand Army of the Republic was made up of clones, and Jedi,” Vil explained.

Luke opened and closed his mouth a few times before speaking, unsettled, and not knowing how to tackle this. What was he insinuating?

“I don't really know,” he said, looking down, trying to sound unconcerned. “My family never spoke much about him. For all I know, perhaps he was.”

The other must have perceived his discomfort, however, because he tried to reassure him.

“I was just joking. I'm sorry if that was inappropriate.”

Luke shook his head and returned the smile, eager to let the subject drop. He'd completely forgotten the Republic army wasn't made of enlists like the Empire's was now...

“That's all right, I just didn't catch on immediately,” he dismissed it, before deviating the conversation towards other topics. “You're Corellian, right?”

Vil confirmed, and began telling Luke why Coronet City was one of the best places of the galaxy. The pilot who had been talking with Chaser, Backstabber, occasionally chimed in too, being from Corellia as well, and the both of them painted quite a colourful image. Luke was enraptured: he'd missed on so much, growing up on Tatooine, and had dreamed of voyage and far-away places nearly as much as of merely stepping into a spacecraft.

They were interrupted when Mauler stood up and demanded their attention.

“Boys,” he said. “This afternoon, I will go over some squadron manoeuvres and tactics. Meet me in the command room, where we will discuss that, as well as the shift schedule and a short briefing of the next operations.”

He then left the table.

“Better hurry,” Vil advised. “Mauler is a decent enough guy, but he's strong about discipline, and hates losing time above all else.”

They stood up and left their trays at the exit, quickly walking through the corridors to get to the meeting, all six of them. Chaser, Vil and Backstabber were deep in conversation about different TIE models in comparison to Republic fighters, while Dark Curse seemed to be listening with a smile, and Qorl was walking on his own. For an instant, Luke had the distinct sense of something missing, as if the light-hearted talk was meant to conceal that something was not completely right. He thought of all the battles these men must have seen together, feeling a little like an outsider.

Suddenly, he realised what had struck him as odd. He approached the group of pilots, intending on asking his wingmate.

“Chaser,” he said, seizing a lull in the conversation. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure, go ahead,” the other replied.

“Is the whole squadron there, or are there still people on patrol?”

“No, that's the whole of us,” Chaser answered, frowning. “Why do you ask?”

“I'm just curious,” Luke said, noticing how the atmosphere seemed heavier all of a sudden. “I thought squadrons were usually made of twelve people.”

The others exchanged sombre glances, confirming his suspicions.

“That's just theory,” Chaser replied bitterly. “Pretty things you find in books.”

“What do you mean?”

“You don't think all squadrons remain whole for all time?” Backstabber, the thinner man of the group, jeered. “This is war, boy. People die.”

Luke frowned, taken aback by the strong reactions.

“I know that,” he retorted. “But even so, aren't seven or eight people a bit... few?”

“Well here you are, replacing the fallen,” Chaser quipped. “The cycle goes on.”

Luke didn't answer, as much as he would have liked to. He knew Chaser wasn't evading his question just to annoy him. Something had happened, and he didn't feel like talking about it. He supposed he could understand that.

He didn't really expect Vil to jump in to enlighten him.

“It happened a little over three weeks ago,” he said. “There was... I don't even know if we can call it a battle. It was an escort mission, easy and straight. Some kind of crystals for construction, they told us. A small shipment, but they needed a few TIEs to protect them for the beginning of their voyage. We weren't expecting trouble... but then, a whole squadron of Rebel ships came out of hyperspace.”

“Rebels,” grumbled Chaser. “We'd be at peace if not for them.”

“We don't know how they knew we were going to be there, if they were interested in our shipment or just blockading any Imperial ships they found. Anyway, they attacked us. We were outnumbering them, but they had this new craft they got when Incom defected, the X-Wing, which is a frinking good ship. We managed to drive them away, but not without heavy losses.”

“Five people in our squad, three in the other. Lord Vader was livid,” recalled Backstabber. “He hadn't been flying with us, of course, but it's always a hard blow to lose so many, especially in such a small and simple operation.”

“But you couldn't know they would attack,” Luke intervened. “How could you have foreseen it?”

“We couldn't have,” Chaser replied. “These things happen and there's nothing you can do about it. Doesn't mean you've got to like it.”

They felt silent after that, each of them deep in their thoughts until they arrived in the command room.

Luke didn't have much time to think about the grim story once Mauler began his briefing. The man spoke quickly and effectively, and he explained in the greatest detail things that often were very technical, so Luke had to summon all his concentration to follow.

“As you know,” he said, his electronic eye staring at each of them successively, “to be a correct pilot it is not enough to be in peak physical shape: your mind also must be as swift and accurate as a starbird. You must notice everything, assess everything, and take quick decisions. That's why it is so important that these formations be as natural as reflexes when you fly. Exert constant attention, gentlemen.”

And indeed, he expected nothing less. He told them of missions they were expecting to take in the future, the movement of the enemy and what they thought it meant, then wore them down in the training flight simulators, never raising his voice, but watchful and as precise like a hawk in what he demanded of them.

“Good work, Black Five,” he told Luke when reviewing their performances afterwards. “Your reflexes are excellent, but you still have to be more careful to your surroundings and your partners' movements.”

It was quite late when they were finally given rest, and Luke stumbled towards the refresher, his head swarming with attack and defensive patterns and his head spinning a little: he wondered briefly if that was what they called “space-legs”, before getting into the sonic shower.

As he relaxed under the soothing buzzing, his thoughts wandered back to the conversations of lunchtime, the revelations of Vil, Chaser and Backstabber. He had known being a fighter pilot was dangerous, and that the casualties were often very high, but he had never realised how much exactly that was so. It was a sobering realisation, and he thought he understood better what Chaser had said when he'd told him focus could make the difference between life and death.

Absently thinking of his day, another talk jumped at the forefront of his mind, the one he had had with Vil about his father. The recollection made him frown, and his heart missed a beat as he berated himself for his carelessness. It hadn't been smart at all to bring him up, and he'd nearly slipped up quite badly.

Before Luke left for the Academy, his aunt and uncle had sat down with him and explained why they had been so reluctant in allowing him to realise his dream, and why, even after relenting to Biggs's incessant pleas and explanations as to why they had to let him go, they wanted him to remain careful at all times. They had told him his father had been a Jedi, and that it placed him in great danger should it ever be discovered. Luke still didn't understand why his father's identity mattered so much, but he knew Jedi were considered enemies of the Empire, and had agreed not to tempt fate. He'd managed to keep his secret during his whole training, which had been quite hard, when even his best friend couldn't know a thing about it; but of course he had to make a mistake sooner or later.

Had the pilot pried only a little bit further, Luke wasn't certain he would have been able to cover for his mistake, and then... He didn't really know what would have happened, but he didn't care much to find out, either.

It was lucky Darth Vader hadn't been there, he thought with a cold shiver while turning off the shower. If there was one person in the whole Empire who could never be made aware of his heritage, it was him. No, Luke decided, it was better not to mention his father again at all.

Once ready, he exited the refresher and locked his things away, before heading for his bunk and collapsing there, exhausted.

He drifted off to sleep immediately, dreaming of the stars.


	3. Encounter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the chapter a lot of you were waiting for :P I should probably warn you that, as finals are approaching faster than the _Millenium Falcon_ in hyperspace, updates are probably going to be very scarce from now until the end of June. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! :)

It only took a couple of days for Luke to realise exactly how busy the job was.

Since his arrival, it seemed to him he hadn't had one minute for himself. Between advanced formations training, patrolling, and the various other duties that came with his station, every hour was crammed full. To his dismay, he had quickly realised that flying was not even the largest part of the work. Every outing had to be carefully planned and debriefed, even something as simple as flying around the Star Destroyer to make sure no enemy came to attack. The good part was that they were all in the same starship, so to say; so whenever he had trouble with something too new, there was always a helpful hand to get him out of his problem, provided he would return the favour. He was learning quickly, and he could feel his upbeat attitude and goodwill was appreciated by his peers.

There was one thing, however, that he wished he never had to be acquainted with, and that was paperwork.

He sighed and passed his hand on his face, staring blankly at the security report he had to fill in. It had been his job to check the fighters to make sure everything was in order with them, something he had in fact enjoyed. Mechanics were something he felt at ease with: an ion engine, when you looked at it in the right way, was not all that different from a vaporator, and Luke had been so obsessed with starships when he was younger he practically knew them all inside out. Knowing if everything was in place was a child's game. However, the amount of forms that came with that duty seemed downright baffling to him, and he was still struggling with what to write, how to do it and whom to send it to.

Taking a short break, he stretched on his chair, keenly feeling his muscles work. For a moment, he brushed the idea of leaving the report for later and going for a good work-out; he had neglected his physical shape a bit the previous days anyway, what with all the duties and the departure preparations that he hadn't expected, and he knew he should get back to it soon if he didn't want to fall behind the regulations.

The movement made him notice with a twinge of annoyance that the upper fastening of his uniform had detached itself for the second time that day, making the right section of his double-breasted tunic untidily fall open at the front. He hastened to attach it again, reflecting that he should replace the clip as soon as he could.

No, he really had to finish this now. Seizing once more all the determination he could, he dove into the document again and began typing, all the while wondering why the Imperial Navy seemed to have such a hatred for plain and simple Basic.

He had managed to answer to half the document correctly, or at least as much so as he could, when the sound of footsteps made him straighten on his seat, realising he'd been slouching. Fortunately, it was only Backstabber, who he knew couldn't care less about his posture.

“Hey, FNG,” he said, entering the pilots room and coming close to the table to speak to him. “Was looking for ya. We're all set to get in hyperspace, wanna come and see?”

“What? The departure?” Luke asked. He knew their stop at Ank Kit'aar had only been temporary, for maintenance and resupplying mostly, and they were heading back to more troubled areas of the galaxy. He hadn't expected his work to stop as they travelled.

“What else?” Backstabber answered. “Lt. Tanbris cleared us.”

“I don't know...” Luke hesitated. “I've still got this thing to finish.”

“Won't last much longer than ten or fifteen minutes, then you can get back to it. You really wanna miss your first jump?”

Luke bit his lip. In truth, he really didn't: he'd been in hyperspace a couple of times, every time in the passenger area, where there weren't any viewports, and to say he was extremely curious was an understatement. He just wasn't sure he could afford it. He didn't know how much more time he would need to finish that report.

“All right,” he conceded with a smile, putting his datapad down and rising from his chair. “I'm coming.”

He followed Backstabber through the monotonous corridors of the ship, heading in the direction of the docking bay. They walked across the empty deck, which seemed much bigger to Luke with most of the ships stocked in the hangars, and went to the control room. There was but one officer there, who shot them a questioning look, but turned his attention away from them once they had explained to him what they were coming to do. They settled next to a secondary viewport, Backstabber getting on the side so that the younger man had a good view.

“It's kind of a tradition for pilots on their first assignment to come and watch the ship go to hyperspace,” he told Luke. “Still remember mine. I was not much older than you, had been stationed on the _Crusader_ when she was just coming back from her maiden voyage. Couldn't tear my eyes off it. They say you can go mad if you stare at it for too long.

Luke nodded, a bit doubtful about that last fact – spacers were, after all, known to be superstitious. Outside, space was as dark as it always was, only punctured by the small bright dots that were the stars.

Then something seemed to shift, and next to him, Backstabber smiled.

“There,” he whispered.

And Luke felt it. The pull in the pit of his stomach, as though a hook had just taken him there and dragged him backwards. Even more surprising, however, was the view in front of him. The stars had begun to stretch, little points unfolding into thin threads of light, spinning and racing madly towards him in a kaleidoscope of blue and white. Unsurprisingly, they didn't show any sign of returning to normal, so he just stared at them, trying to catch sight of them all while knowing it was impossible.

Probably no more than a few seconds had passed when Backstabber tapped his shoulder.

“We should get back now,” he said.

They exited the control room the same way they'd entered it.

“Thanks,” Luke said with a genuine smile. “That was amazing.”

Backstabber offered him a crooked grin of his own in return.

“I know.”

They crossed the docking bay in silence. Now that he paid attention to it, Luke noticed there was another quality to the ever-present noise in the hangar: it was a sharper buzzing, more shrill, yet so faint you really had to listen carefully to hear it. Still, it was enough for him to recognise the sound of hyperspace-tuned engines.

They had nearly reached the large blast door when Luke noticed something that made him falter in his step.

Just on the other side of the bay, talking with an officer, was the tall and ominous shape of Darth Vader. Entirely clad in black, a wide cape falling to his ankles, the man, if he truly was one, had his back to them, and seemed to be listening to whatever his interlocutor was saying. Even in this passive stance, he held a crushing presence that dominated the whole of the empty bay.

Luke stared at him during maybe a second, intimidated despite himself, and unable to contain his curiosity about the man he had heard so many stories about, when Vader seemed to be distracted by something. He turned his head sharply, allowing the young man a glimpse of his mask's profile. A shiver ran down his spine, unsettling him in a way he didn't understand, as if cold tendrils had wrapped themselves around him and began poking at his limbs, searching him. Hurriedly, he decided he would rather be found at his station than here, no matter how authorised he was.

Backstabber threw him a questioning glance as he caught up to him.

“What's up?” he asked.

Luke shrugged.

“Nothing,” he said lightly. “Just a thought that hit me.”

The other pilot didn't look much convinced, but he refrained from commenting, even when Luke obviously relaxed once they were out of the docking bay.

They made their way back with small talk and light banter, until Backstabber left Luke to see to his duties. The young man thanked him once more then went on his way, his head still full of the fascinating images he had witnessed, before real life took over, and he groaned inwardly at the thought of the datapad he'd left in the leisure room.

Fortunately, half an hour later, Luke had mostly figured out how to complete his form and had sent it on with great relief, glad to have that behind him. He was munching on a ration bar and pondering on the rest of his day when Chaser strolled in the room and greeted him, which he returned eagerly after swallowing his mouthful.

“Backstabber took me to see the jump,” he said. “D'you know where we're actually going?”

“No idea,” Chaser answered, sitting down next to him. “They didn't give us any information about that. So how'd you find it?”

“Great,” Luke grinned. “I had never seen one before.”

The older pilot chuckled.

“Yeah,” he sighed. “I'm glad we're gone. I hate doing nothing. Can't wait to gun down some Rebels, I missed that.”

He winked at Luke, but the young man looked away and took the last bite of his bar instead of replying.

“How can you be so cold about it?” he ended up asking after a silence, raising his eyes to meet Chaser's again. “They're people too.”

Chaser looked at him with an expression that could only be described as commiseration.

“You can't think like that, kid,” he said, as if Luke was eight years old instead of eighteen. “That's the kind of reasoning that'll get you killed as soon as you get in battle.”

“I know,” Luke replied, rising from his seat. “In battle. Thing is, we're not in battle. Survival against the enemy is one thing, but – are you really looking forward to ending their lives?”

Chaser blinked.

“Tell me, FNG,” he asked quietly, “why did you join the Navy?”

Luke opened his mouth to speak, but closed it immediately – _I wanted to fly_ felt like a silly answer, and one that his instructors had never accepted in any case.

“It's not that I agree with the Rebels, I don't!” he said. “They have it all wrong and I hate that we're at war because of them. If only they'd stop fighting, we'd have peace. But...”

“I'll tell you what the Rebels _have all wrong,_ ” Chaser cut him off. “They're agitators. Criminals. They kill law-abiding citizens just because they don't like the way things work! You ever heard of all the riots on Imperial Center? The battle of Theed? Fresia? Those savages take their guns every time they disagree with what's happening. They're a menace to the order, a miserable mob of misguided individuals that slaughter others because they don't share their deluded opinions! So no, I'm not feeling remorse at bringing them down and stopping their madness.”

“Yeah, but... I wish it wasn't necessary,” Luke said, running his hand through his hair, and beginning to regret ever bringing the topic on the table.

Chaser laughed drily.

“Well blast me if I don't, too,” he retorted. “But how else will they be stopped from bombing Imperial property at leisure in the name of their moon-kriffed freedom?”

The young man looked away, a hollow cold in his guts. He didn't like at all the spark that had lit up in Chaser's eyes, and that looked a bit too much like suspicion for comfort.

“Look – okay. All right, you're right,” he sighed. “It's just – I can't look forward to killing people. I just can't.”

He glanced up, and saw that the older pilot's face had softened.

“It's alright, FNG,” he said. “I was like you too, once. That's the hard part of war – it's either crushing or be crushed. There's no middle ground. And someone has to defend our Empire against those madmen, huh?”

Luke nodded, still feeling pretty down. All kind of thoughts were running in his head, so loud he actually had trouble understanding what was going on. He'd sincerely thought everything he said, yet he couldn't help feeling guilty, realising his words were actually walking the line to treason. That was not at all what he'd meant, and he hoped Chaser knew that. Even aside from how dangerous that would be, he really didn't want to be seen as a Rebel sympathiser, especially after all the rows he'd had with Biggs and the others on the topic, back at the Academy...

“Hey,” Chaser said, noticing his sombre mood and trying to cheer him up. “You want to get in the sims and have a mock fight for training? That's why I'd come in the first place. I still need an hour to be clear and I'd thought maybe you'd enjoy a game.”

Luke smiled, hoping that would take his mind off their previous conversation.

“Sure,” he said.

“Great,” Chaser replied, standing up. “By the way, your shirt's open.”

Luke swore under his breath while fastening his uniform once more, then hurried to follow Chaser out.

Fortunately, as soon as he got into the flight simulator's cockpit, the conversation went at the back of Luke's mind and stayed there, overwhelmed by the wonderful sensation of his snub soaring in space, even if it was only a training program. Chaser chose a few battles for them to re-enact, trying to take down as many enemies as possible, and even if at the beginning the younger man couldn't help thinking back to what they'd just discussed, hours of finely honed training soon kicked in enough for him to be able to put it all aside and concentrate fully on what he was doing. Soon there was nothing more between them than the adrenaline of the competition, friendly rivalry fuelled by their camaraderie, and a deeply-ingrained desire to win in the both of them.

They sparred for a little more than an hour, which ended far too early for Luke, with a tie they found themselves sorely arguing to solve.

“Nah, FNG, you lost, you get stuck with filing it in, that was the deal,” Chaser was saying on the way back to the pilots' living room, where they'd agreed they would debrief their training session together.

“No way, _you_ lost,” Luke retorted, “C'mon, I saved your ass in the last battle like the good wingmate I am, you'd have been _destroyed_ otherwise.”

Chaser snorted.

“Not my fault you didn't understand the concept of competition,” he said. “I took down the most enemies, I win.”

“I did it just so you wouldn't feel wiped out by a kid half your age,” Luke bit back. “I may have killed one or two less fighters than you, but I took down all the most powered-up of them, those that count for double the points, so _I_ win.”

“You just made that up,” accused Chaser.

“I didn't and you know it!”

“Nah, that's not how it works. You better accept your defeat gracefully or I'll have to report you for immature conduct.”

Luke shook his head, half aggravated, half biting back a smile.

“Why you hypocritical, dishonest piece of bantha –“

He stopped dead in his tracks, his playful mood disappearing in an instant. A few feet ahead of them, Darth Vader was exiting a conference room, a commander with an oblong face and shadowed eyes on his heels. Both he and Chaser immediately snapped into a salute; but Vader didn't respond to them at once, stopping in front of them with deliberate slowness, his hands behind his back as he watched them without a word. His mechanical breath rang loudly in the silence of the grey-walled corridor.

“Ensigns,” he finally greeted them. “I expect you have a reason for displaying such undignified behaviour.”

“No, my lord, we do not,” Chaser replied. “We apologise. It won't happen again.”

“See to it that it does not. I will not condone this childishness on my ship,” Vader ordered, pointing an ominous finger towards them.

Luke swallowed at the unspoken threat in his voice. He remained still, at perfect attention, as the mask turned to him and began to study him closely. He did his best to keep his own eyes steadily forward, struggling not to shift under the weight of the Dark Lord's gaze.

“What is your name?” Vader asked him.

“Luke Lars, sir,” Luke answered, an uneasy knot in his gut tying itself tighter with every passing moment.

“Tell me, Ensign Lars,” Vader continued, his metallic tone soft, but with a dangerous edge to it. “Do you consider your appearance appropriate to greet your commanding officer?”

Luke frowned, not understanding Vader's question. About to ask for clarification, he glanced down at his uniform to try and spot what had offended him, when what he saw made his heart miss a beat.

His tunic had fallen open once again, a whole section of the thick black fabric hanging negligently from the front, as though mocking him. Its weight was pulling on the second fastening, which seemed on the verge of detaching itself as well.

His mouth dry, he hastened to fix the clip on his shoulder again, inwardly cursing his shaking fingers. It fell down once more before he managed to set it into place, seconds stretching with unbearable slowness as he struggled to close it. Finally, it was done, and he put himself at attention again, looking straight at Vader and praying he wouldn't regard it as a grave offence.

The Dark Lord remained still for what seemed like a long time after that, and Luke had to call on all his courage not to break the eye contact and look down. He wouldn't have admitted it for anything in the world, but he was terrified. The lack of response from Vader seemed to spell unspeakable doom, and his imagination was running wild, unhelpfully, with everything he could do to him.

“Beware, young one,” he warned at last, sending chills down Luke's spine. “You would do well to behave yourself if you do not wish to incur my displeasure.”

He then walked away without one more word. The commander quickly responded to their salute with a pitying glance at them, then followed Vader on his way.

When they turned the corner, Luke released the breath he hadn't realised he had been holding. His heart was pounding in his chest, and he was somewhat marvelling at still being alive.

“You have a knack for landing yourself in trouble, don't you?” commented Chaser. He sounded shaken as well by the encounter.

Luke shrugged, trying to throw away the rest of his nervousness with the gesture.

“That's me,” he grinned, not as casually as he'd aimed for.

Nevertheless, his squad mate shot him a incredulous look, smiling in disbelief.

“Well I believe we still have a debrief to do,” he said. “And you should really fix that uniform.”

Luke nodded, but didn't answer further, still too troubled to think of a fitting reply, and the both of them headed towards their squadron's quarters without speaking.


	4. Contemplations

The interior walls of the chamber were completely white, more spotless than any other place on the ship. As a consequence, the lights were dim and warm, to allow damaged eye tissues to see without hurting. A variety of mechanical devices were suspended to the ceiling, waiting to be of use, as well as a slumbering medical droid and various supplies, making the spherical room look more like a small and specialised sick bay than a space of rest and concentration.

Sitting in the black chair in the centre of the pod was Darth Vader, immersed in deep thought, a datapad in his hand. Regardless of the stifling sterility of the environment and the constant pain of his condition, he found a small comfort in the way the oxygen-enriched air brushed the scarred skin on his face, or in the cold colours the world bore without the red-tinted veil of his mask's lenses, and he always retreated here when he had something to ponder or meditate upon.

He glanced down again at the report he had been reading. It was the file of his squadron's newest recruit, arrived aboard the ship, it seemed, barely a few days ago.

 _DV-61-5. Luke Lars. Birthday: 23-5, Year One._ Born on the first day of the Empire, he hailed from Tatooine, his guardians a modest family of moisture farmers. He had been accepted into the Imperial Naval Academy of Prefsbelt IV soon after turning sixteen, the minimum age for enrolment. Next to his personal information, the picture of a blond young man was displaying a nervous yet bright smile, piercing blue eyes standing out against his tanned skin.

He stared at the image, observing the youthful features and recalling the brief times he had seen them in the flesh.

At first glance, he was nothing out of the ordinary. It was even pure chance that he'd been stationed on his flagship. The officer who had been in charge of his affectation had a history of sending cadets he didn't appreciate to _Devastator_ without any previous experience, knowing how demanding and dangerous such a posting was. More than once, Vader had had to reassign or dispose of mere children whose overconfidence only rivalled their incompetence. He would have made sure this odious practice came to a definitive halt long ago, had the man not enjoyed the Emperor's favour.

But this boy was different. He had something special about him, something he couldn't place.

Vader skimmed through his profile again. He had finished his training honourably, with good enough academic grades and various commendations by his instructors. What really stood out in his record, however, was his scores in battle simulations. The number of titles and medals he had won was well above average, and he had been the first of his promotion by far, demonstrating a skill and intuition usually found in people much more seasoned than he was.

He skipped a page to throw a glance at his recent simulation records, and probably the only ones that existed, given how little time he had been in service yet. All of them showed a gifted pilot, who although he still needed to improve his coordination with others' movements, seemed perfectly in tune with his craft, moved with the ease and agility of someone that had been flying his whole life, and avoided both enemies and obstacles with eerie accuracy.

Such reflexes were abnormal. Almost as if he knew in advance what he would encounter.

Vader remembered the subtle undercurrents in the Force he had felt lately, moving around the boy in a peculiar manner. There was something about him...

He came back to the beginning of the file, finding his birth certificate, and the result of the mandatory blood test established by decree of the Emperor, to which all children had to be subjected before they reached their second birthday. His midichlorians count scored three thousand and two hundred per cell, an amount that was slightly above average, but still nowhere near enough for him to be able to feel the Force, much less using it. The test had been performed flawlessly, with all necessary details present and coinciding, every formality followed.

And yet he couldn't have imagined that resonance...

He closed his eyes and reached out with his perceptions, feeling the whispering swirls of the Dark Side of the Force billowing around him in response to his questions. He tried to latch onto the boy's characteristic presence, but his brightness was shimmering and elusive, mingling in the flickering ocean of the thousands of lives busying themselves aboard the ship.

He came from Tatooine. Fate was persistent, Vader mused, in throwing this accursed planet in his path. As a matter of fact, he could better than most situate the boy's farm on its surface, on the outskirts of Anchorhead, near the Jundland Wastes and the border of the Dune Sea. Images of the endless desert formed in his mind, ruthless and unyielding, yet familiar. 

Mechanical hands tightened into fists as he remembered the last time he had found himself on his homeworld. Rumours and alleged sightings of a Jedi living there had led him, four years ago, to discover the hiding place of his former master Obi-Wan Kenobi. The man had not aged well, his hair white and his skin withered both by the years and the unrelenting heat of the twin suns. The fight had been short, so weakened had he been, as well as distinctly lacking part of his sanity. Vader had felt but little satisfaction in running his blade through the body of the man who had crippled him and left him for dead, and the sight of his empty robes falling on the ground had only filled him with a hollow sense of loss.

A new thought took hold of his mind, overcoming the frustration that came with the memories. Could this boy have been Obi-Wan's apprentice? The old man certainly had been devious enough to falsify his test results without any trouble. And the both of them had lived close to each other...

For a moment, he let himself entertain the idea. How fitting a revenge, to take the boy for himself and turn him against his previous teacher, the way Obi-Wan had made sure his own wife betrayed him. It would be all too easy, stationed under his command as he was, at his mercy, to break his will and rip him from all he held dear, just like he had lost everything, so long ago...

Parched lips painfully pursed as unwelcome memories washed over him. Vengeance was useless. Striking down Kenobi had achieved nothing. Images of her soft features still pursued him, her shining eyes, her little nose, her playful smile and chocolate hair that he had, in spite of his best efforts, never truly forgotten.

Obi-Wan had killed her. If not for his former master, she would still be there, laughing and happy, raising their child in peace. He had been so delighted back then to learn he was going to be a father, before it all turned into ashes, before joy faded into grief and immeasurable loss. For a moment, among the ever similar days running past without taste or flavour, he stopped to wonder what their lives would have been, had the man who had called himself his friend not taken everything from him. Their little one would already be eighteen now, growing out of adolescence and discovering adult life...

No, he thought in anger, berating himself for his moment of abandon. No. Remorse and regrets were pointless, as was longing for an existence that would never come to pass. Such things belonged to the past, back in the life of a weaker, foolish man.

A flare of resentment struck him as his eyes fell down on the young and smiling picture of the file. It didn't make sense. Beyond his lack of the distinctive strength a trainee usually possessed in the Force, there was no reason for an apprentice to grow up in a family a few miles away from Kenobi's house instead of with him. Had it been the case, he was quite certain the two would have been found together, fighting alongside each other. And why would he want to serve the Empire that had slain his mentor? No, that couldn't be.

There was no telling what had attracted his attention to the boy, he concluded while turning off the datapad. He would keep an eye on him and see if more arose from it. Time would reveal the answers he sought.

He waited for the mask and helmet to close down on his face again before rising up and exiting the pod.

*******

The stars, countless burning points puncturing the cold blackness of space, endlessly spinning around him. G-forces twisting and pulling on him, his breath catching in the effort, his hands tightly clutched on the controls. He grit his teeth as a laser beam missed him by a hair, thanks to a last-second recovery.

_Trust your instincts._

He jerked into a loop, trying to avoid the Rebel X-Wing that was pursuing him, while still keeping his mind open to signs of the other four he knew were somewhere out there.

“Got him, Five,” he heard with great relief his partner say.

Indeed, a few seconds later, his assailant blew up in a thousand fiery shards, letting Luke release the breath he'd been holding. He bit back a thanks – even a millisecond of distraction could be fatal, and the transmissions had to be kept open for any emergency –, keeping his mind focused on the other fighters around them.

_Keep your attention on your surroundings at all times. The enemy can come from anywhere._

He closed his eyes for the briefest moment, needing the relaxation and insight it brought him. He knew this was a very dangerous habit he should rid himself of as soon as he could, but had up until now been unable to discard it, despite all of his attempts. Somehow, it seemed to give him a much-needed presence to the moment he had never managed to achieve any other way.

Keenly aware of the movements of Vil and Dark Curse around him, he turned to go after one of the remaining enemy fighters, paying extra attention to stay in a good position in relation to his teammates, in order to quickly cover them should they be in difficulty, or to the contrary to be close enough for them to rescue him if the need arose. It was a delicate and dangerous balance, to keep your freedom of movement while still staying in formation. He hadn't yet completely managed it: he still had a tendency to think too much on his own.

One of the fighters came back in his line of vision, heading for one of his partners. Immediately, Luke was on its tail, determined not to lose this opportunity.

“Six, there's one after you, I'm on it,” he said.

He barely heard the other's acknowledgement, his entire attention directed at the small cross-shaped fighter in front of him. He was good, Luke reflected with clenched teeth as the ship kept moving in front of him, evading all his manoeuvres to get a lock on him. Pushing on the throttle, he tried different angles, his efforts more and more daring as the enemy kept escaping him.

A warning on his scopes and a shot of fire he barely managed to avoid made him utter a curse. He'd been so taken in his chase he'd failed to notice the two other X-Wings that had taken him for quarry. He pulled up out of their line of fire, abandoning his own pursuit in order to evade them. They followed suit, far too close for comfort, their coordinated movements keeping him on a tight defensive. He tried various figures to get away, but there was always one of them not far, forcing him to move yet again away from them.

He let out another Huttese expletive under his breath, his heartbeat quickening. Nothing he did managed to shake them. They were too well tuned together, working in pair to bring him in a place where he would no longer be able to escape. And it was efficient. He knew he couldn't keep up that rhythm for long, he could feel his control slip away, more and more close calls nearly getting past his defence.

His head was spinning, sweat trickling down his back. He hardly even saw what he was doing. The world was moving too fast, and he relied exclusively on his reflexes, firing every chance he had in order to get out of the impossible situation. _If only I could take down one of them... just one of them..._

A red beam made him jerk on his right, propelling him just in front of the other fighter, a perfect target. _No –_

He felt the shot coming before he even saw it, before he could do anything to dodge it. A scream rose from his throat as his surroundings lit up in a blinding light, then everything went black.

Luke took a deep breath and slowly let it out, unclasping his shaking hands from the controls as he forced himself to relax, his distracted gaze fixed at his score on the flight simulator's screen. That had been one of his most intense sessions yet. He usually had better control than that, but his opponents had been particularly vicious this time. Already reviewing his performance and pointing out all the mistakes he had made, he allowed himself another minute to get a grasp on his composure before exiting the small cockpit.

Mauler was standing a bit further, looking at an overview of what Vil and Dark Curse were doing, still in their own sims. Luke joined him without a word, looking at the small blue and red dots on the hologram. Soon enough they destroyed another one, before being taken down one after the other.

The commander waited for them to scramble out of their respective sims, looking as dismayed as Luke felt, before addressing them all.

“Congratulations, boys,” he told them. “You managed to bring down a good amount of enemy fighters despite being vastly outnumbered.”

“Thanks, Mauler, that makes us feel a little bit better about getting utterly trashed by the bots,” Vil replied. “What was even that program?!”

“Template based on records of the battle of Kuat, with enemy ships fitting the profile that we established of the new Incom starfighters stolen from us by the Rebels,” Mauler answered.

The Corellian raised his eyebrows and emitted a low whistle. 

“Now how about getting down to business?” the lieutenant-commander went on, cutting off Vil before he could utter the comment he visibly longed to make.

“We were doing well at the beginning until one of the enemy ships broke our formation with a movement we were not expecting,” Dark Curse's deep voice provided. “We struggled to regain it, which they exploited.”

Mauler nodded, pointing a remote at the hologram to play out that sequence of the simulation again.

“Yes. See how from about that point your formation weakened? Immediately two of them seized the chance and dove into the flaw.”

“We tried to regain some coordination afterwards, but it was too late,” Vil supplied, as the three-dimensional image illustrated his words. The three blue dots were trying to converge again, but were kept separated by the moving red points between them.

“Maybe we could have managed it there, look,” Luke said, pointing out a particular area on the holo, which Mauler helpfully paused. “We had a window of perhaps two seconds we could have used to rally. They were still outnumbering us but at least we could have watched each other's backs to get through to them.”

“We should have been perfectly in tune with one another to spot such an opportunity,” Dark Curse remarked. “But that is something we can concentrate on more attentively in the future.”

Luke absently nodded, watching one of the blue dots getting closer and closer to a red one, and in doing so let itself be carried away from the others.

“That was me,” he realised. “I was so focused on that ship I forgot to pay attention to anything else.”

Indeed, in no time at all two other enemy ships had taken the blue dot in chase, separating it from the others and turning it instantly from hunter to prey, liberating their ally in the movement. Luke's ship evaded them for another few seconds before being finally flickering and vanishing.

“You held on for a pretty long time against them,” Vil noticed.

Luke shrugged.

“From that point it was over anyway. You were both taken in your own fight, and I was well and truly cornered. There was no way we'd have gotten out of that one.”

Nodding in agreement, Mauler turned off the hologram and set the lights back to their regular level.

“I think that's all for now,” he said.

The others were moving to leave the room when Mauler addressed Luke.

“That wasn't your most brilliant performance, Lars, but you're making a lot of progress. I'm confident by the time we head into battle all together, which may not be in such a long time, you will fit in perfectly with the rest of the squadron.”

Luke thanked him with a smile, then hurried to catch up the others.

“Man, I can't believe how crushed we've been,” Vil said when they arrived at the squadron's quarters, collapsing on the couch. “Can't say I'm eager to face these X-Wings again. I wish Incom was still on our side.”

“Yes, they were one of the best,” Dark Curse answered with a sigh, sitting down as well, while Luke was taking a drink from the tap. “It was a hard blow for us, one that'll take time to recover from. The Rebels are getting bolder. A glass of water would be welcome, lad, thanks.”

“I heard there was a lot of unrest throughout the Outer Rim lately,” the Corellian said.

“They're regrouping. Their recent successes must have bolted their confidence.”

Luke nodded while holding out his glass to Dark Curse and settling next to them, remembering what Biggs had told him, shortly before graduation. That had been an eventful moment: they were just taking their finals and preparing for the last few weeks of their formation when word had spread of one of the Empire's biggest ship and weapons factories' defection to the Rebellion.

“We'll get the upper hand again, I'm sure of that,” he said. “We still have many more resources than they do.”

“Sure hope you're right,” Vil replied. “But it's worrying all the same. They weren't much of a threat as long as they kept acting each on their own, but if the leaders are trying to bring them together, they could become very dangerous.”

Both Luke and Dark Curse silently marked their agreement.

“By the way,” the younger man asked, “do you know where we are? We've dropped out of hyperspace a short time ago, right?”

“Shortly before the end of my shift, I gathered,” Vil said. “No idea where we've arrived, however. We weren't given any details yet.”

Dark Curse smiled at that, little creases deepening around his sparkling black eyes.

“So you don't know your stars, Vil,” he teased. “A short look outside would have been enough to give you at least an idea.”

“I haven't had the occasion to look outside, Dark Curse,” the other answered. “You know, duty officer's stuff, all that.”

“Well I have,” retorted the older man, turning to Luke. “We're somewhere in the north-east corner of the galaxy, I think. Around the Nembus or the Kwymar Sector.”

Luke frowned.

“I can see where it is,” he said, “but I don't know much more.”

“There's not much to know,” Dark Curse provided him. “It's hardly a busy place.”

Luke nodded, a smile drawing on his face.

“That would make it a good hideout for Rebel cells, wouldn't it?”

Dark Curse smiled back and took a sip.

“So would I think, too.”

“Speculation's useless, anyway we'll get orders soon,” Vil chimed in. “I believe we'll get more information about the situation at that moment.”

“You're right, Vil, but you used to have a better imagination,” the older man answered, setting his empty glass down and glancing at his chrono. “Anyway, I'll have to leave you. I have to check on my laundry before night cycle kicks in.”

Luke imitated him, and groaned upon seeing the time.

“Yeah, and I should get a few hours of sleep. My patrol's at 0230 tonight.”

Vil threw him a sympathetic glance.

“I hate nightly patrols,” he said. “Good night then. I'll finish the few reports I have to hand in and turn in as well.”

Luke headed towards the dorm, not feeling all that tired. It wasn't until he had finished readying himself for sleep that the weariness set in, and he yawned, an unexpected cold chill travelling down his spine. He frowned. He'd thought he had gotten used to the temperatures of space since he'd set foot on the Star Destroyer, but he still felt that single icy shiver at random times. It had once or twice occurred to him it didn't really seem like regular cold, either: it felt pulsing and moving, nearly like a living thing.

He shook his head, smiling at his own silly thoughts. Maybe he was more tired than he had reckoned. Dismissing both the feeling and the ludicrous ideas, he lied down and closed his eyes, falling asleep a few moments afterwards.


	5. Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I am incredibly out of my depth with the strategic-tactical military stuff, and one can only do so much research, so please forgive me if some things feel a bit silly? Also please tell me if there are completely unbelievable points, because it would be a great help. I am aware I have a terrible strategic mind.
> 
> Anyway. Thank you so much for your patience and your support, and sorry for the wait. I still have a few exams to go, so this was not as thoroughly proofread as I'd like, but I figured I made you wait long enough as it is. I will probably come back and fix it a little later, when I actually have time.
> 
> (Also, while I realise it may not be very clear right now, I do promise this story's main focus is Luke and Vader. I just need to establish a few more things before there really are developments in that regard.)

“Black Four and Five, we're ready to receive you. Proceed to launch bay.”

“Copy that, Control, thanks. Five out,” Luke said. He then heard Chaser acknowledge the order as well, in a worn yet still professional voice.

Both pilots then manoeuvred their craft to the bay, closely monitoring their speed. This was the most delicate part of any mission: for a successful landing, one had to lodge the fighter into a pair of big claws hanging from rails, which would then be driven back behind the atmospheric shield to the hangar, where the pilot could disembark. In order to make the operation a little less delicate, there were three levels on the claw where the ship could hang safely: the best, and that which all pilots were supposed to aim at, was the second one. Getting the first meant you were too high, and risked a collision with the rail; the third amounted to nearly missing the claws altogether. It demanded an extreme amount of skill and dexterity to obtain the perfect speed and position.

Luke engaged the front thrusters, noticing he was coming in a bit too fast. After two hours of flight spent concentrated on his sensors to spot any enemy ship or threat that could be coming their way, he was, like his wingmate, feeling the tiredness settle in. But it was not yet over, he reminded himself, fighting the weariness. He needed to be completely alert for this.

A soft beeping and a signal on his screen forced him into razor-edged focus. It was detecting another ship a few meters away from him, a little under his level. For a moment he was tempted to turn around and check on it, but he refrained his urge. He was tired, his shift was over, the landing procedure was engaged. He was supposed to get his ship back home and let the next ones deal with the threat, if it even was one at all. From where he stood, the craft didn't seem to be exerting any aggressive behaviour.

He let Chaser take the lead and get towards the landing rail first. The bay was wide enough that two dozen fighters could land at the same time, and thus two pilots coming in together should not have been a problem, but Luke felt more comfortable not risking it, at this time of early morning.

As soon as his wingmate was in, he followed, aiming for the second level of the claws. If it hadn't happened to him before, he would have thought it was because of the tiredness, but he could see his objective with incredible precision, nearly feel the metal it was made of, sense every meter of the distance between him and it. It was a little overwhelming, but gave him a sense of control and purpose he gladly welcomed in the circumstances.

A sudden cold tingling through his spine distracted him, similar to the one he'd experienced when he went to sleep only a few hours before, but stronger, and he started. It could have been nothing but the cold of space and the tiredness of the late patrol, but something was telling him that was not the case. He tried to latch on the feeling and determine where it came from, but it seemed to be gone.

So was his concentration, and he realised a bit late that he was completely deviating from his course.

“Control, Five, I'm rectifying that now, thanks,” he reassured the man who had attracted his attention on the fact through the radio.

Scolding himself for his mistake, he did his best to get back on track. He approached the landing rail in a rather not-ideal angle, and only barely managed to cram himself in the third spot.

As soon as he was back behind the atmospheric shield, Luke took off his helmet and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. They were supposed to wait after disembarking for that, but tonight he decided he didn't care. He was disappointed to have missed his landing, he didn't understand how he had messed it up, and he had always hated the pressure the helmet created on his skull and face anyway.

He waited a bit before giving the command to open the hatch and climb up out of the cockpit, then immediately walked away, unwilling to talk to Chaser. It was childish maybe, but this was the first time he hadn't managed to get to the right spot: his pride had taken a blow, and he really wasn't in the mood for his wingmate's teasing right now.

“Hey, aren't you forgetting something?” the other told him when he saw him walk away. “I'm not gonna check up your TIE for you.”

“Coming back in a minute,” Luke answered.

Chaser shrugged, going back to his ship.

“Don't expect me to wait for you. I'm going to sleep as soon as I'm finished.”

That was what Luke had been hoping for. Without answering, he walked on and left the hangar.

He wandered in the corridors around it before stopping at a hallway with viewports, leaning against the thick transparisteel. He had always liked to gaze at the steady calmness of space, but had quickly found that the view on a ship wandering in the middle of the void was a thousand times better than even the sky of scarcely-lit Tatooine. Without the veil of atmosphere to separate them, the stars were sharper, their lights standing out against ink-like blackness. His contemplation was still often disturbed by the reflection of the ship's artificial lamps on the pane, but at this time of night-cycle, they were subdued enough for him to get a wonderful view of the cosmos outside.

He let his gaze wander between the constellations, of which he only recognised a couple, letting the quiet of the immensity wash on him and still his frustration. The cold shiver that had distracted him had nearly disappeared now, but when he paid attention to it, he could still feel its shadow run through his bones, as if dormant.

He sighed, letting his forehead rest against the cool material. What was wrong with him? It wasn't uncommon for him to have this sort of strange and unexplainable feelings from time to time, but never had any of them been so persistent, insistent even. This dark coldness seemed to be constantly hovering around him, varying in strength but always present, sometimes griping on him in a stifling way. He didn't clearly remember when it had begun, but was certain he had never experienced it before setting foot on _Devastator_.

His musings were interrupted by a shape moving a bit further, beyond the viewport. From this distance, it was difficult to distinguish what it was, but after a few seconds of staring at it, he thought he could recognise the light markings of a TIE fighter. But it didn't seem to be one of the pilots on patrol. For one thing, it was alone, and it wasn't behaving like someone on watch. It soared gracefully through space, then swooped down in a nosedive, taking abrupt twirls and turns like Luke had hardly ever seen. He didn't look away from it for an instant, mesmerised: he didn't think he'd ever seen anybody fly like this. It was incredible. A little part of him wished he could be there, taking his craft into whatever direction he wanted without restraint, but mostly he looked at it in awe, his eyes glued to the ship's movements.

Soon enough, however, he remembered that he still had a job to finish, and that he should hurry to do it if he still wanted to catch some shut-eye before having to get up. Tiredness and flight didn't go well together, he'd learnt his lesson.

Throwing proper decorum to the wind, he jogged more than he walked in the corridors on the way back to the hangar. The personnel was reduced to the strict minimum, and it was in the greatest silence that he hurried to get back to his fighter, his steps resounding in the large space. Chaser was gone like he'd said, probably sound asleep in the squadron's quarters already. Luke realised he had no idea how much time he'd spent staring at the flying ship.

He was just finishing up to recharge the battery, and was checking the last outer systems, when the sound of another fighter coming in the hangar awoke his curiosity. Surely it wasn't so late that the next patrol was already back... no, he would have seen people take off to relieve them. He looked up, but upon catching a glance of the pilot coming out of the ship, hurriedly focused on his work again.

The craft, in all probability the same that he had seen outside joyflying – there was no other word for it – with such virtuosity, was Darth Vader's.

With deliberate slowness, Luke replaced the cover on his TIE's charging levels, distinctly hearing the Dark Lord see to his own fighter. Of all he'd heard of him, none of the stories had mentioned how skilled he was at flying. For a moment, the young man gaped in awe, brushing the idea of getting up to greet his commanding officer and telling him how impressed he'd been. His wonder fiercely battled with his decision not to attract attention to himself, but the latter won out in the end, and he just remained there crouching next to his craft, pretending to be completely absorbed by checking out its hull. He really hoped Lord Vader would walk past him and get back to his quarters without acknowledging him.

He didn't have such luck, however. Heavy boots clunked in the silence then stopped not far from him, accompanied by the thunder of a respirator.

“Ensign Lars. I did not expect to find you here so late.”

The bone-deep cold had returned, stronger than Luke had ever felt it, wrapping itself around him, through his legs, his arms, his feet. Trying in vain to block it out, he threw a quick look at his uniform shirt to make sure it was closed before realising he was still wearing his flight suit, then stood up and turned to face Vader, putting himself at attention, his helmet under his arm.

“Good night, Lord Vader,” he greeted him. “I was just finishing my last post-flight checks after coming back from patrol.”

“Alone?”

The cold wasn't abating at all, if anything it became more pressing. Luke couldn't help the shudder that ran through his spine.

“No, my lord,” he warily answered. “My wingmate already went back to our quarters.”

Vader's mask was tilted forward, his hands resting on his belt. Covered from head to toe as he was, his cape covering most of his shape, it was very difficult to read his mood, and it made Luke anxious not to know what he wanted. _I did nothing wrong_ , he tried to tell himself, but the nervousness wouldn't go away.

“You didn't follow him.”

 _No, I was too frustrated I didn't manage a perfect landing and needed to blow off steam_ , Luke's mind unhelpfully provided, but he wasn't about to tell the Dark Lord that.

“I was distracted for a little while,” he admitted. “I took a short walk to clear my mind...”

He bit his lower lip, not sure what he wanted to say next would be well received, but needing to say it all the same.

“... that was one hell of a flight out there, sir.”

Vader remained perfectly immobile, and Luke winced upon realising how informal, how boyishly amazed his words had sounded.

“Forgive me,” he hastily said, feeling his cheeks warm up. “I – I didn't mean to...”

“It is nothing,” the Dark Lord dismissed his rambling with a brisk gesture of the hand. He then paused, before letting his mechanical voice rumble again, with deliberate slowness. “I understand you have shown quite a gift for flying, yourself.”

There was something loaded in the words, some kind of probe that made Luke frown, uneasy despite his pride at the compliment. Why did he seem so interested in him? Was it the norm for him to fall into conversation with random pilots in the middle of the night?

“Thanks, sir. I'm trying my best,” he shrugged, a bit embarrassed. “I... uh, I've flown for most of my life. I can't imagine not doing it.”

There was an uncomfortable silence, and he had the impression Vader was watching him.

“I see.”

The young man looked down with a shiver, feeling cold and strained again. He wondered if fatigue could have that effect on someone. Or maybe it was his mind running off again, taken away by impossible perceptions that made no sense except that which his overactive imagination wanted to give them.

Then it subsided, if only barely.

“If you have nothing left to do, I suggest you retire for the night,” Vader said, as if he had read his thoughts.

“Yes, my lord,” Luke promptly answered, relieved to have an excuse to leave his overwhelming presence. “Good night.”

Vader inclined his head as only response, and the young man walked away without showing his haste, feeling the disturbing weight of his gaze on his back.

*******

The awakening was tough, and much too early for Luke's taste. He groaned in his pillow, calling on all his courage to drag himself out of his bed, which somehow felt far softer and more alluring than a regular, hard-edged standard Imperial bunk had any business to be.

With a supreme effort of will, he managed to get up, change into his uniform, before heading to the living room and making a beeline for the caf machine. The whole squadron was there – surprisingly, nobody was otherwise occupied.

“Hello,” joyfully said Chaser, a smirk on his lips that Luke didn't like so much. “I see the night was short, how long did you stay brooding over your missed landing before checking in?”

Kriff. He'd noticed. Luke had half hoped otherwise, but with his wingmate's competitiveness, of course his mistake had been spotted. He bit back a groan: it was far too early for this.

“Can't see what you're talking about,” he replied, making Chaser snort at his blatant bad faith. “Don't tell me you've gathered the whole squadron to tell them I actually am able to kark a landing?”

“You'd need that to get your ego deflated,” the other quipped.

“The reason we're all in here together is that we have a tactical meeting in half an hour with Lord Vader, so Lars, you better move your ass right now,” Mauler chimed in, also holding a cup of the bitter beverage, before turning back to the datapad he'd been reading. He sounded exasperated by their antics, his electronic eye flashing yellow-red colours.

The others snickered. Luke acknowledged him with a discrete “yessir” before grabbing a ration bar and sitting down on a couch, quietly sipping his caf while listening in on the conversation, which had gotten more subdued after the cyborg's sharp remark. The drink was slowly beginning to kick in, which was a relief Luke sorely needed.

“I'm glad to get back to real work,” Backstabber told Chaser, who wholeheartedly agreed with the sentiment. “I was getting crazy with all these surveillance missions. It's high time we put 'em Rebels back in their place.”

“Yeah, can't wait to get some action either.”

Luke nearly threw in a barb, eager to get back at him, but wisely decided to keep his mouth shut for once. This kind of things could wait for him to reach full consciousness.

When they arrived in the command centre, Lord Vader was already there, standing behind the console with his hands behind his back. A bit further back in the room was Lt. Tanbris, watching them.

Lord Vader waited for them all to come in and gather around the holotable, then waved his hand, and the lights diminished, letting the round shape of what looked like a planetary map appear distinctly before their eyes. Luke watched around, but nobody else seemed to wonder how Vader had done that, and he quickly reported his attention on the meeting when their commanding officer began to speak.

“We are currently orbiting Carosi XII, the seventh planet of the Carosi system,” Vader intoned. “We have suspected for a long time that the locals were harbouring Rebels, but proof of it has only been found recently. They have hidden an outpost in the mountains, under the guise of a medcenter, where we believe them to be coordinating different operations in the sector.”

Vader paused, and the holograph zoomed in to show a specific place on the planet.

“The ground assault that has been led until now was of limited efficiency, given the strategic placement of the stronghold. A siege would be similarly tedious and long, which is why we will be going in as an airstrike.”

The map zoomed in again, now showing a very detailed image of the area, their target a bright red square in the middle of translucent blue schematics.

“The attack is scheduled at 0100 standard time, tomorrow in the early morning, for optimization of the light and weather conditions on-planet. At 0045, the ground troops will be ordered to retire from the strike site to a combe nearby. A squadron of TIE/sa Bombers will be sent in atmosphere to attack the target. You will come in at the primary goal will be to locate and destroy the outpost's shield generators, then deal with possible reinforcements should the Carosite forces choose to support them.”

He then began to explain the mission in more extensive detail, describing the operation step by step while illustrating the movements of the troops on the map. Luke listened attentively, completely concentrated on the presentation. Vader's words were clear and precise, and conducted limpid images in his mind as to what was expected of them. This was something he was familiar with: war games were a common occurrence at the Academy, even in the pilot training, and he had actually been once or twice in Vader's position, trying to determine the most effective way to cripple an enemy in a mock space battle.

But this was no longer an elaborate game where he would be facing his comrades in a simulator. It was real, and he tried to deny the way his stomach twisted at the thought.

With a twinge of guilt, Luke realised it made things easier to know there apparently weren't any Rebel pilots stationed on the Carosi outpost, something he was thankful for.

“Any questions?” Lord Vader finally asked.

Luke absently shook his head, reviewing the meeting in his mind and finding no instruction that he thought needed clarification. Around him, the other pilots were doing the same, all of them looking extremely focused. Backstabber was frowning, Vil was looking down and repeatedly stroking his chin, and Qorl had a faraway look in his eyes.

“Very well.” Vader waved again, and the map disappeared as the lighting came back to a normal level. “I will see you tonight.”

He then addressed a few words Luke didn't hear to Lt. Tanbris and exited the control room, cape flowing behind him. The lean officer took the datatapes with him, then followed suit. Already the squadron was gathering in smaller groups, discussing the preparation of the assault and what still needed to be done.

 _A medcenter_ , Luke thought, of all the disguises the Rebels could have chosen to conceal their activities. It was clever, for sure; but he couldn't help but think it was a little cowardly, too.

A hand on his shoulder tore him from his musings.

“Afraid yet, FNG?” Chaser teased.

“Of course not,” Luke lightly answered.

“Then come,” his wingmate began to pull him away with him towards the others, where they were still talking about the assault. “We have a lot of work.”


	6. Battle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once more sorry about the wait! I really struggled with this chapter. I'm still not too happy with it, and I hope it makes sense, but I really have no idea how to better it, so. Here it is.
> 
> I changed a few tiny details in chapter 5 too, but only minor things.

With a sigh, Luke ran a hand on his face, staring blankly at the report in front of him describing the geography of Carosi XII and its atmosphere conditions. The planet, now home world to the Carosites, had apparently not always been so: they had migrated there shortly before their sun grew into a red giant, swallowing the first five planets of the system in its expansion. The original numbering system had been kept, however, so the current first planet was still named Carosi VI.

Their target was planted on the slope of a tall mount in the north section of the Eurae mountains, a range of ice-covered volcanic summits that ringed the planet completely. Most of them were extinct or dormant, but a few remained in activity mostly in the south-western part of the planet, close to its capital Newlife Point, which was known for its naturally hot springs. The snow and ice covering the mountain they were attacking, as well as the glacier running down to the valley, cutting access to the building by its eastern side and continuing to the north, was making any ground assault near impossible, despite the fact that it seemed to be slowly melting. They had tried it, and been violently repelled by the firepower of the Rebels, safely hidden in the stronghold that had once been a place of healing.

“That's a well-defended and strategically-placed medcenter,” had joked Backstabber when they had first gone over the mission.

There had been a few snickers before the discussion came back to their flight plan. They had spent a good six hours finalising it, going over different ways to get to the three shield generators, the possible paths of escape and of attack if the Carosite forces turned up, as well as reviewing the flight conditions. Now they were wrapping it up, summarising the most important points of the briefing and repeating the steps of the attack plan. Luke was straining to keep concentrated.

Finally Mauler brought it to a close.

“We have a little over eleven hours before taking off,” he said. “I want you down in the hangar ready to do a last run-through of the plan at 0030. Until then, take your rest and make sure you are in peak shape for the assault. Dismissed.”

As they were all exiting the meeting room, Luke let escape a relieved sigh, relishing the cooler air of the corridor. He understood the necessity of these tedious meetings, but it didn't make them any less tiring. Everything they had discussed was spinning in his mind without any order, and he felt as though his head was going to explode.

A hand settling on his shoulder tore him from his musings, and he slowed down in his step, letting the others pass them by as he looked questioningly at Chaser.

“I need to talk to you,” his wingmate said, watching the rest of the squadron walk back to their quarters.

“I'm listening,” Luke frowned. Usually what Chaser said, anybody could hear; it was uncharacteristic for him to take someone to the side like this.

The pilot sighed, which confused Luke even more. This was definitely unusual.

“It's about what you told me the other time,” Chaser began, his brown eyes staring right into Luke's. “About the Rebels being human and not being in battle. From now on, you are in battle. This is the enemy and nothing else. You get that?”

“Of course I do,” Luke said, annoyed by his patronising tone. “Don't think I don't know what I signed up for. I know what must be done.”

“No you don't,” Chaser retorted, and his briskness surprised the younger pilot. “You have no idea what you signed up for because nobody does before their first battle. When you come back from this you won't be the same. You'll be shaken. You'll have seen things you'll wish you never had. And that's only if you come back at all. So you've got to put it into your head that the more of these guys die, the better, because the second you hesitate is the second _you_ 'll be dead.”

Luke didn't answer immediately, the unexpected outburst jarring all his irritation away. The merciless words were unnerving all on their own, but it was the virulence in them that really threw Luke. For all his gruff tones and rough words, Chaser wasn't much one for speaking up.

“I appreciate your concern,” he slowly said, carefully choosing his words. “But I promise you I'm not going to freeze at the first casualty. I'm aware I don't have the same experience as you all, but I'm not coming into this completely blind. I'm in this because I want to win this war. That I'm not happy to kill people doesn't mean I won't do it.”

“I hope your pretty reasoning still holds on when you actually have to pull the trigger,” Chaser warned. “There's a reason for all this drilling you seem to have dumped about why the Rebels are so bad. It's not only because it's true; it's because you need it to survive.”

Luke nodded, a cold knot tying itself in his stomach despite himself. He knew this was true. He would have given anything to be able to see the Rebels as faceless killers, monsters that did nothing but wreak havoc on the galaxy. He understood the necessity of this, and was determined to do his duty; but it would have been so much easier hadn't he known that somewhere in the galaxy his best friend was flying in an enemy cockpit.

Was Biggs also told to see Imperials as nothing but targets to be eliminated? Was he also haunted by the idea that his hand could unwittingly bring Luke's death?

“I understand,” Luke said, unable to think of any other fitting answer.

Chaser pursed his lips and tapped his shoulder, before turning around and going away. Luke stayed there a few more seconds, his eyes staring at nothing as he tried to grapple with his glum thoughts, then he shook his head and walked out as well.

They had a battle to prepare.

*******

They were all ready in their black flight gear, shining helmets under their arms, five minutes before the time Mauler had given them. Despite the late hour, the sound of flight techs preparing their crafts filled the hangar, echoing the nervous excitement that Luke could feel resonating inside him, and had no doubt his flight mates shared. A little further, the other regular TIE/LN fighters, Wraith Squadron, and the TIE Bombers, Eta Squadron, were similarly busying themselves.

A jittery shiver ran through Luke's spine as the officer's recapitulations reached their end, and he turned his head to see the huge form of Darth Vader approaching them, cape flowing around him as he took Mauler's side. His mechanical breath seemed weaker than usual in the middle of the noise, but his voice was as booming as ever.

“Sharp and swift minds and focus on your objective will be the key to success. Now head to your ships, and remember your orders.”

The pilots then snapped in a salute.

“For the Empire!” one of them shouted.

The cry was then taken back by all of the fighters, a heady chorus in which Luke loudly joined, swept away by the power of their voices rising all together. Vader acknowledged them with a nod and walked away, upon which they broke the position and ran to their fighters, putting their helmets on their heads and nimbly climbing down the ladders, closing the hatches above their heads. Luke turned the systems on, still running on the enthralling emotion that had taken all of them, feeling invincible. Nothing could resist their combined skill: they would win this battle, and brilliantly.

They departed in formation, Vader's TIE Advanced leading them, the two fighter squadrons surrounding the bombers. They steadily approached the planet, descending closer and closer to the atmosphere, leaving the sun behind them as they did so. Finally, they were near enough the surface for them to catch their first glance of the landscape, and Luke gasped at the beauty of it.

It must have been the earliest hours of the morning on the planet. The blue sky was still coloured in pink where it touched the horizon, behind the snow-covered tops. Light and shadows were entwining on brown and white surfaces, sparkling where the sun brushed them. Descending on the slope of the highest mountain and into the valley was a river of turquoise ice, glistening and shining under the rays of dawn.

“Target on sight at 10 degrees. Move in attack position,” Vader's voice ringing through the comm called his attention back to the mission.

They were getting very close to the mountain in question, which stood dark and ominous in Luke's eyes. The young man could indeed make out a building of smooth and light-coloured shapes against the rocks. Smaller and rougher, built for utility rather than aesthetics, and seemingly much more recent, three devices with antennas were dispersed around it, displaying an invisible yet effective shield.

“Black Leader, Group Six coming in,” an unknown voice said.

One of the bombers, flanked by two pilots of Wraith Squadron, separated themselves from the group and dove towards the closest shield generator, situated on a rock on the northern slope, a few miles away from the outpost. They approached it from above, but a shot of laser fire forced them to break away. Immediately, one of the fighters turned back and fired at it, only for the magnetic shield to absorb his attack.

“All ships move closer to the ground. Their laser cannons are situated inside the shield, there will be no disabling them,” Vader ordered.

“Great,” Vil muttered, “so it's hit and run time.”

“Cut the chatter, Black Eleven.”

They dove near the surface, zigzagging between the snow covered rocks, and separated to approach the different targets. Together with two other groups, Luke flew next to Eta Three, approaching another generator, a bit higher on the glacier.

“Group Two and Three, try to distract them. Group One, we're going in.”

“Copy, Black Leader,” Luke announced, echoing his flight mates.

They pulled up, immediately followed by the laser shots. Luke did a barrel roll then dove to avoid it, gritting his teeth, the beams too close to him to his taste.

“Eta Two, look out –“

“Blast! I'm HIAAAA – ”

Luke swerved aside just in time to avoid the bomber that was spinning in his path, before crashing down on the mountain in a bright explosion. Luke just had time to look away, but the blast shook his ship, the flames licking at his hull for an instant.

“Attack missed. Coming at it again.”

Luke took a shaky breath and pulled up again, teasing the beams once more in a deadly dance, hoping it wouldn't take too much time before they could take down the generator. The comm was frantic, buzzing with transmissions of all nine groups of starships.

“Black Ten, on your right –“

“Eta Four coming in –“

“Break-Break, all fighters, I have incoming at 210 degrees!”

Luke threw a quick look at his beeping screen as well, his chest tightening. An unidentified amount of enemy fighters were indeed coming their way.

“Copy, Wraith Seven,” Vader said. “Eta Squadron, keep your focus on the targets. All other fighters cover for them, ready to engage.”

Luke pulled up, making careful circles around their target like the other fighters with him. This was going to make things harder. 

“Those are no Carosite ships, they're Headhunters,” a Wraith pilot said. “Rebels!”

Luke's heart fell in his stomach, absently hearing the next exchanges on the comm.

“What? No way! They're coming from the south, not from the outpost!”

“Speculation is pointless,” Vader hissed. “Stay focused on the objective!”

The young man tightened his knuckles on his controls, his blood drumming in his ears. He couldn't hesitate. He had to do this. _I hope you're not with them, Biggs,_ he prayed.

There were about a dozen ships, which were coming at them full throttle. Luke had to dive down, barely flying under the belly of one of the Headhunters.

“Black Five, cover me,” Dark Curse asked him as he flew right before him.

“Wilco, Six,” he answered, placing himself on his tail.

For a short moment it was like being back in the sims, following the others' movements while looking out for the enemy. But Luke quickly realised that none of the shots he took were hitting their target. Biting back curses, he kept firing and missing. His heart skipped another beat as a read beam darted a few feet away from him.

“Five, what's happening?” Dark Curse ended up asking. “You're flying erratically.”

“I – I'll be all right in a minute,” Luke answered, trying to regain his calm.

Angry with himself, he took another shot that largely missed his assailant, but nearly took Dark Curse down.

“Whoa!”

“Sorry!” Luke said, trying not to panic.

Everything was a blur around him, ships exploding, cries ringing on the comm, frantic exchanges firing from everywhere. _Chaser was right,_ he thought. _I'm not cut out for this. I'm going to die._

“Black Five, listen to me. Breathe. Pull out for a moment if you need, you're doing no good like that,” Dark Curse said, his voice calm and patient even as he was caught in a dogfight with the fighter Luke kept missing.

Luke nodded, forgetting the other pilot couldn't see him. He took a deep breath in, then out, fighting not to get overwhelmed. He mechanically kept following Dark Curse, avoiding enemy fire, trying to fall back into that half-focused aware state that preceded his best performances.

Another Headhunter arrived from behind them, and Luke barely had time to avoid it as it rushed towards Dark Curse. It teamed up with the other one, keeping the TIE hanging between them, evading their fire with more and more difficulty. A shot missed the Imperial by a hair, and he only escaped it with an expert twist.

“Dark Curse!” Luke cried out.

His teeth gritted, barely conscious of what he was doing, he charged at the Rebel ship, fired three shots at it before pulling up. The ship exploded in a thousand tiny shards, and Luke breathed out.

“Thanks,” Dark Curse said, seizing the moment to fire at the second enemy, which had been taken into its partner's explosion and soon followed him into oblivion.

Luke didn't answer, jaw tightly set, feeling as though loosening any of his muscles would make him break down again. There was a constant sizzling in his head, one he struggled to keep away from engulfing his thoughts.

“Target Two destroyed!” echoed over the comm, in a voice he thought he recognised as Qorl's.

A wave of relief overcame Luke, allowing him to relax the tiniest bit. Two left to go, then they would be clear.

“They're aiming for the bombers,” Wraith Leader said. “All fighters cover for them!”

Luke made wide circles around his own target, careful not to fly too high and attract the outpost's fire, on the lookout for any enemy ships, imitating the other fighters from his group. The distinct shape of Vader's craft was covering Eta Leader, Black Two on the bomber's other side, as they made a run for their target. He barely had time to catch his breath before a Headhunter emerged from behind the mountain and flew in their direction, aiming directly for the ships attacking the generator.

“Group One, fighter incoming at 160, I'm taking it,” he announced.

Barely registering his comrades' acknowledgements, he rushed towards it and shot, pushing it away from the others while evading its fire. It tried to evade him in order to get at him, but Luke twisted away from its range, keeping it on his scopes and in his field of vision. The pilot was agile, however, and Luke has to deploy all his dexterity in order to keep away from him, never managing to land a hit.

The sun was nearly getting to the top of the smallest mountains of the range now, and was fully illuminating whole sections of the glacier. Luke dove closer to the shining ice, trying to lead his opponent to a point where he wouldn't be able to look at him without being blinded, and using the occasion to fire at him. The other never gave him a possibility to do so, instead turning his trick against him by flying around him, and Luke had to manoeuvre subtly in order to avoid facing the sun. They chased each other all the way up the glacier, two birds on the hunt being both prey and predator, and flew over the large crater that formed the top of the mountain.

The Rebel dove in, and Luke followed him, the both of them flying about a foot away from the black rocks of the ground, which seemed covered in smoking ashes. Fast as they were going, it was a challenge to avoid crashing into the relief of the floor, but Luke was feeling at ease, remembering the wild races in the canyons of Tatooine with – 

_Stay in the present,_ he ordered himself. He fired on the enemy who was now right in front of him, but his shot was a fraction of second too late and it missed, embedding itself into the crater instead of his opponent's hull. A vague feeling of anxiety seized him, and he thought he heard a rumble far away, which was completely preposterous over the screeching sound of his engines.

He pulled up, suddenly uncomfortable with continuing the fight there, and seeking the open space of the skies instead. As he had been looking for, the Rebel took the bait and soared behind him, pursuing him into the cloudless blue. No laser from the outpost came to disturb them, and they were completely free of their movements: Luke had guessed they wouldn't risk firing on one of their own.

He tried to get closer to his target, wanting to take it down quickly now before other Rebels would come to its aid. He trusted his reflexes as he came full throttle on it, pushing it again and again without ever crashing into it. He could feel the other's surprise and fear as he got more and more unbalanced; then, in a last assault, he fired, and dove down before the enemy craft could blow up on him.

Keeping his thoughts on a tight leash, trying not to remember the sound of the explosion nor the flash of terrified emotions that had darted through him, Luke rejoined with the others, that a couple Headhunters still prevented from taking down the generator.

“Black Five, cover for Eta Leader on the East, I'm taking the western part,” Chaser told him.

Luke acknowledged and immediately rushed into one of the fighters, hoping to scare it away from its objective. It was tenacious, and tried by all means to get around Luke, who had trouble keeping it away.

“Black Four, I could use a bit of help,” he called, his voice strained.

“Hold on just a second –“

“Target One destroyed,” Vader's voice rose.

Luke's relief was short-lived. Taking advantage of his moment of distraction, his opponent flew past him, rushing straight towards Eta Leader. With a reflexive cry, Luke began chasing after him, but he couldn't prevent it from diving in range of the bomber and firing at him, taking him down.

Keeping his attention focused on his breath and on what was happening in front of him, Luke rose and followed the remaining fighters to the last target, higher on the mountain, where the battle had gathered. None of what had preceded compared to the chaos that the area now was, with fighters both Imperial and Rebel littering the sky, trying to get close to the shield generator, the ones to destroy, the others to protect. Luke could only mindlessly follow the others, concentrating on the orders that fired through the comm, shooting at the enemy ships without knowing if he had hit them. Explosions burst from everywhere, screams echoing between the officers' instructions.

“Target Three destroyed! The shield is down!”

The Rebel fighters must have noticed it as well, for they shifted towards the former medcenter in defence position.

“All ships in formation,” Vader ordered, “and proceed to main target!”

“Sir, Eta Squadron is down!”

Luke looked around, astounded and frightened, searching the shapes of bombers around him and finding none. Surely they couldn't have shot down the entire squadron?

“Then cannon fire will have to suffice,” Vader answered, cold as ever. “Rearrange in standard attack pattern and move in!”

Luke tried to obey, looking to rejoin with his squadmates, but the Headhunters flying in the opposite direction prevented him from doing so. Instead of flying down to the Rebel outpost, he was forced upwards by his assailant, all the way up to the mountain's crater, which was now abundantly smoking. Finally, he managed to hit his enemy, who took fire and spun down to the ground before crashing on the fuming dark rocks below. A shiver ran through Luke's spine, as if an even greater danger than the constant peril of battle was threatening him.

Vader's fighter flew above his head, taken in his own dogfight.

“Black Five, keep firing inside the crater.”

Luke frowned, unsure if he had heard well. This was a terrible idea: that he was certain of.

“Black Leader, this is Black Five, please say again?”

“Black Five, fire at the crater,” Black Leader repeated.

Luke bit his lip, flying circles close above the ground, torn and hesitant. He wanted to protest, to refuse to do it, but this was his commanding officer, and such a course of action would earn him a reprimand at best, a court-martial at worst: disobeying an order was serious business. At the same time, he was completely unable to bring himself to act. A sense of doom had taken hold of him, a certainty that disaster would soon strike them all, and they should rather get out of it as soon as they could. It was ludicrous, and he couldn't understand it, but the feeling was so strong he couldn't ignore it.

“Black Five, this is an order,” Vader said once more, now sounding very aggravated. “All fighters gather close to the top of the mountain!”

Sharpening his will, Luke forced himself to shoot, closing his eyes involuntarily as he did so. Again the distant rumble he'd thought he heard made itself heard, but he shut it out, instead continuing to fire, again and again. Other Imperial fighters were beginning to join them, and Headhunters were charging at them, an agitated swarm that was certain to disturb the restless force, or whatever it was, that Luke was certain was awakening as they fought. It was hard to see in the middle of the smoke.

A TIE fighter and a Headhunter suddenly crashed down in the crater together, forming a hole in the ground from which a spurt of fumes shot up. Luke's ears tingled with a roar of unknown origin. Before he knew what was happening, he soared up in the sky, unable to stay there a second longer.

“All ships pull up, again, all ships pull up now!” Vader ordered.

All the remaining TIE fighters took altitude, reaching the height Luke had already flown to not a second too soon.

Under them, the ground had begun to shake, and the rumble Luke had heard before made itself more present and real. Smoke and ashes were shooting from the mountain, or rather the volcano, so much they were obscuring the sky. All confrontation had stopped, the fighters either fleeing or, like Luke, stunned by the fearful and awesome spectacle. Blinding bright red cracks were forming inside the crater, from which magma began to burst, pouring down the slopes of the mountain, melting ice and ground alike.

“The mission is over, we are finished here,” Vader said over the comm, hardly audible above the thunder of the eruption. “Everyone head home.”

They spent the short flight back in complete silence, stunned and shaken by this unexpected development. The eruption must have been developing for a while, thought Luke. He had felt it, he was absolutely certain he had, although how, he had no idea. The battle kept replaying before his eyes like a hectic mental film, but his eyes were unfocused, and his body seemed to be acting on its own.

Finally, they were back in _Devastator_ 's docking bay. It was the same as they had left it, calm and peaceful, for the battle had not taken more than one hour, and they were still in the middle of night-cycle. But Luke found it looked different, somehow altered by what had happened planetside. It all seemed different, and he had trouble deciding if it was reality that had changed or if his mind was playing tricks on him, struggling to process the recent events.

He climbed out of his TIE, his glove catching ash as it brushed against the hull. He took his helmet off, but didn't feel the relief that usually accompanied the action. His hands were trembling.

A bit further, the squadron had gathered, exhausted and covered in sweat. Luke absently counted them, afraid of knowing, but needing to. One person was lacking: he didn't take long to realise Backstabber was the one absent. They had to be grateful it was only one, he supposed, considering how many casualties there had been. He still had trouble to believe none of Eta Squadron had come back.

He hadn't realised Dark Curse had risen and come to him until his hand was on his shoulder. How had he not seen him coming?

“Come,” he said. “We all need something strong to drink.”

Luke absently nodded, afraid to speak, uncertain if he still even could. The squadron was slowly moving away towards their quarters, and Dark Curse patted him on the back as they followed, offering silent comfort.

They had nearly rejoined the others when Darth Vader's voice sounding in the hangar made him freeze.

“Ensign Lars!”

Detached from the knot in his abdomen and the hammering of his heart, Luke turned towards him. The Dark Lord had just exited his fighter, towering in the middle of the hangar. He looked angry, and Luke thought he knew why. 

“Follow me.”

Luke froze, struck by the threat he could hear in these two commanding words. His whole body feeling cold, he forced himself to advance towards Vader, step by step as he kept his eyes straight on him, struggling not to look at the numerous glances he knew he had to be receiving.

The Dark Lord turned around and marched out of the hangar, Luke falling in step behind him.


	7. Fallout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to [frodogenic](http://archiveofourown.org/users/frodogenic); she'll know why. Also many thanks to [Slx99](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Slx99), who has been a great help and inspiration for this and future parts of the story.

Vader strolled down the long corridors leading to his quarters. Behind him, he could feel the boy nearly jogging to keep up with his long strides, his steps hardly audible, as though he hoped the Dark Lord would somehow forget he was there if he didn't hear him. His fear was bleeding through the Force, bright and intoxicating, so strong Vader had trouble focusing on anything else.

When they arrived, he opened the door with a sweep of his hand and entered, the young pilot on his heels. Lars hesitated for the shortest moment before crossing the threshold, certainly feeling how unwise it would be for him to attract more of the Dark Lord's wrath. He advanced in the middle of the room as the door swooshing behind him trapped him in his commanding officer's company, and stood at attention.

Vader stood for a long time with his back turned to him, his hands clasped underneath his cape, and let the sound of his breath fill the room, undoubtedly chilling the young man to the core. After spending such a long time instinctively immersed in the Force as he flew, his presence was still grounded in it, blinding in its intensity. Although he couldn't hear his thoughts, Vader could feel his mind work fiercely, trying to guess what Vader wanted with him, what would happen to him, and attempting in vain to dodge the most dreadful pictures provided by his imagination as growing anxiety slowly took a hold of him.

The Force was strong with him. Of that there could be no more doubt. The confusion caused by the falsified blood test had taken him off track for a short time, but it was all dispelled now, taken away by the obvious power he was radiating. Few beings possessed such a natural connection, such a clarity in their feelings, and Vader allowed himself to bask in the boy's purity as he slowly unhooked his lightsabre from his belt.

He should kill him.

That, too, was undeniable. Unless the Emperor himself decided otherwise, all Force-sensitive beings were to be disposed of as soon as the Empire gained knowledge of them. Tracking them down had once been one of his primary duties. It would be quick and easy, untrained as the young man was, trapped in the same room as him, to run him down with a swipe of his glowing red blade, or to reach out and break his neck; nobody would question the presence of the body in his quarters, and all memory of the boy's existence would soon be forgotten.

Yet Vader was reluctant to strike him down. How strange, he mused with a humourless smile, that he didn't feel inclined to kill this boy whose gift marked him for destruction, who had disrespected him and nearly disobeyed his orders, when many others had died for less. But he had to admit it would be a heavy loss for the Empire to be deprived of such a skilled pilot. As long as he remained loyal, his service would be of great value, more even than that of all the other soldiers giving their lives in battle every day.

And there was something there, in his stature or his mannerisms, in the strong will held in his clear blue gaze, in this mesmerising Force presence that should never have shone so brilliantly, a faint scent of memory hanging around him that intrigued and troubled the Dark Lord deeply.

Discreetly replacing his weapon to his waist, he turned around and studied him. The young man didn't move, his back held straight, his eyes staring ahead of him. His right arm was held along his leg, his left one holding his helmet. He was still clad in his flight suit, his hair was moist with sweat, and he looked worn down despite his tight posture.

No, he decided, he would grant him a reprieve. His next misstep would always be early enough for Imperial laws to strike upon his head...

“Ensign Lars,” he slowly began, letting his voice carry some measure of the danger he'd just been in. “I trust you know why you have been summoned.”

“Yes, my lord,” the boy answered.

Vader took a step closer to him, watching his muscles tense in apprehension.

“You nearly disobeyed a direct order in the middle of battle,” he carried on, as Lars involuntarily shivered, barely avoiding to shrink under his overbearing presence.

“Yes, my lord,” the pilot repeated. “I apologise. I never meant to, I don't know what came over me... It will not happen again.”

So it had been the Force that had prompted him not to act, an instinct he had confusedly followed without knowing what it was, as he had thought. Impressive...

“I should hope not. Your actions today could have had disastrous consequences, which were only avoided due to favourable circumstances and quick reactions. You have endangered your comrades' lives and the success of the mission. This is a serious offence, one that demands disciplinary action.”

The young man swallowed, losing his voice altogether. Vader let the tense silence stretch as he passed him by, circling him, his cape swirling against the boy's ankles.

“You will spend the remainder of the night in the brig, after which you will not take flight for the foreseeable future. You will take knowledge of your new duties with Lieutenant Tanbris, and will report to me every evening, until I decide to let you regain your place in your squadron.”

“I... yes, my lord,” said the boy, sounding both relieved and deeply disappointed.

Vader approached him from behind, not even an inch away from him, towering over his shoulder and tilting his mask towards him. Lars' breath quickened.

“Be very careful, young one,” he said with deliberate quietness. “I will be watching you, your every move, your every breath. If you make one step out of line again...”

The young man was shaking now, from fear, exhaustion and strain from his position. His terror was spiking in the Force.

“... you will wish you had never attracted my attention.”

The boy let out a shivering breath.

“I understand, my lord,” he bravely said.

Vader straightened, stepped back, and took his comlink from his belt to order some troopers to take him away. As they waited for them, he remained silent, wordlessly observing the young man before him and letting him fight to stay at attention, despite the fact that he looked ready to collapse at any moment. There was a familiarity he couldn't place in the youthful features, a boldness that remained despite the fear reeking from him.

He would break that stubbornness before he destroyed him, one way or another.

He watched the boy until his escorts marched him away from his chambers, deep in thought.

*******

_Sand, as far as the eye can see. In the middle of the endless blue sky, a pair of twin suns, watching on the desert. Grains flying around, carried by the Khamsin wind and the speed of the skyhoppers._

_Two boys were racing side to side, neither seeming to gain the advantage. Their machines were so close they were touching, grinding together as the boys shared defiant gazes, trying to get ahead of the other. Finally, they sped out of the canyon into the open space and screeched to a halt, dust worming itself into the engines. They stepped down, still laughing in exhilaration, and the tallest one, a boy with dark hair and eyes, passed an arm against his friend's shoulders, ruffling his mop of blonde hair. The smallest one tried to extirpate himself from his embrace, but in vain, and the both of them fell sitting on the sand._

_“Can you imagine,” the blonde boy quietly said, “how awesome it would be to race between the stars?”_

_The other grinned._

_“One day, that's gonna happen, Luke. We'll fly in battle together, the finest pair of hotshots the galaxy's ever seen. We'll be a couple of shooting stars that'll never be stopped.”_

_Luke smiled and looked down, cocking his head on the side, but his eyes had lost part of their sparkle._

_“I'm not joining the Rebels though, Biggs, you know that.”_

_Biggs frowned, dreams and laughter forgotten._

_“You've been spending time with that trooper again, haven't you.”_

_“His name's Jem,” Luke retorted. “And he's a good man!”_

_Biggs sighed._

_“It's not because one Imperial is a good man that the whole system is good, Luke. Don't let yourself be taken in by their propaganda, you're smarter than that.”_

_“But they have been bettering things here,” Luke argued, looking his friend in the eye. “The school in Anchorhead, the freed slaves in Mos Espa – that's all them.”_

_“That's only part of it. The school is just a way for them to put their ideas in young heads like yours. And they only freed the slaves to weaken Jabba the Hutt. They're doing far worse things outside in the galaxy...”_

_Suddenly they were on Prefsbelt, in the dry and grey corridors of the Academy._

_“... I'm no longer losing my time with your secret meetings,” Luke said as they got into their dorm, making sure no one was around. “They're just Rebel propaganda and, honestly, it's ridiculous. I don't even know how you can believe that!”_

_“It's the truth,” Biggs said._

_“Yeah, right,” Luke replied. “That's why they always speak of the gruesome slaughters the Imperials commit, but never of all the civil lives the Rebels destroy with their sabotages! How can you not see it?”_

_“Luke...”_

_The young man sighed, suddenly seeming very tired._

_“Listen, let's talk about something else. I don't want to argue right now... we're always saying the same things anyway.”_

_They kept walking in a corridor similar to the one they'd just left, and arrived in a hangar, where people were boarding two different shuttles. Luke was standing facing Biggs and another man awkwardly._

_“So, Biggs, Hobbie, you're really doing it?” Luke asked._

_“Not so loud,” Biggs hurriedly said. “I swear your mouth is worse than a crater.”_

_Luke glanced around, suddenly worried._

_“I'm sorry. I'm quiet now, listen how quiet I am,” he said, barely whispering._

_The two other men chuckled at his antics, and Luke smirked, but their hearts were not in it._

_“Yeah,” Hobbie said. “We are.”_

_Luke's mouth pressed in a thin line._

_“Be careful,” he ended up saying. “I wish we never cross paths.”_

_Biggs's face contorted in a grimace._

_“This is war, Luke. We're enemies and nothing else now.”_

_Luke's eyes widened, and he gaped at the taller man. It was so unlike him to say that..._

_“Biggs... you'll always be my friend, you know that,” he pleaded._

_Suddenly Luke found himself in the cockpit of his TIE, flying up the mountain, killing a Rebel pilot._

_“Really, Luke? Am I? You killed me!”_

_Luke put his hand on his ears and closed his eyes, but Biggs's words were just as strong, his face staring accusingly at him. It was but a black skull now, and his breath sounded loud and laboured, his voice dark and foreboding._

_“No... Biggs...”_

_“You killed me! Killed me... killed me...”_

Luke woke up with a start, his heart beating madly in his ears. It was a nightmare, nothing but a nightmare. Their goodbyes had ended with Biggs reassuring him they'd always be friends no matter what happened, not this cold and cruel separation, he still remembered it distinctly. He wasn't at the Academy, he was onboard _Devastator_ , in the cell he'd been confined to for the night because he'd nearly not executed an order.

He hadn't killed Biggs. These Rebel pilots he'd shot down, neither of them had been him. Luke had to believe that, even though he had no way to know it for sure. He would never be able to forgive himself if it turned out he had taken his childhood friend's life, the boy with whom he'd shared most of his dreams, the man who had allowed him to get off his boring planet. What were the odds, of all the Rebels in the galaxy, that he would face him during his first battle? There was simply no way it had been him.

Yet he knew the possibility was going to haunt him for a long time.

Luke sighed and sat up on the cold metal bench, putting his head in his hands, his elbows on his knees. Of the three hours of night he'd still had, he'd spent at least two rolling over and over on the hard surface, his thoughts bumping into each other in his head, making such noise even his exhaustion hadn't been enough to make him doze off. He'd finally managed to reach a state of anxious slumber, only to be torn from it soon after, and he knew he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep. He lay down on his back again, an arm under his head serving as a makeshift pillow, and tried to find a comfortable position as he waited for his guards to come and take him out, distractedly running his fingers against the smooth wall.

The small cell was dark and cold, and Luke shivered. There was a feeling of deep unease in here, a sense of oncoming death, as if it was just waiting in the shadows, biding its time before it could take him.

He shook his head, trying to dismiss the ludicrous idea. It was probably just the dream influencing him, he reasoned, as well as his encounter with Vader, the memory of which was even more vivid in his stark environment. He understood better now all the rumours that circulated about him, although none of them did him justice. There were no words for the liquid terror that had run through his veins when the Dark Lord had threatened him, for his awesome and crushing presence that had made him freeze on the spot just from standing next to him. For a shattering moment, he had been certain he was about to die, swallowed by the strength of the man's ire.

The worst was that he had deserved it, to a certain extent. Refusing to execute orders was serious business, and he fully understood how dangerous it was, at once for himself, for the group, and for the mission. He still had no idea what had pushed him to ignore Vader's instructions, where that unexplained sense of urgency had come from. He promised himself not to listen to it any longer if it put him in such a situation again. The trouble was that he wasn't certain he would manage to overcome it, so instinctual had it been, come so deep from inside him. He just had to hope it would be enough. He didn't want to find out what the Dark Lord would do to him, should he disobey him a second time...

Luke took a deep breath and released it just as slowly. He shouldn't think about it any longer. He was alive, Vader hadn't killed him, which meant he had another chance to prove himself. Perhaps the next time they met, his commanding officer wouldn't be so dissatisfied with him.

He really wished he had a way to contact Biggs and Hobbie, however, find out if they were all right... 

By the time his door opened on the troopers, forcing him to squint as bright light filled the room, Luke couldn't have been more grateful for the deliverance from his own mind. He got up as soon as he was ordered to, exiting the cell and taking the datapad a trooper was holding him out.

“Your new orders,” he said.

Luke acknowledged him with a nod, and they led him out of the brig before letting him on his way. Luke scurried along towards the squadron quarters, all his muscles sore and heavy tiredness loading his bones. He wished for nothing more than to collapse on his bunk and get some real, restful sleep, but he knew the work day ahead of him would make it impossible for him to get it before tonight. He would definitely take some time for a shower, though: he still felt dirty from the battle of the day before as well as from his nightmare, and was in sore need of a change of uniform.

When he arrived at the squadron's quarters, the only one there was Lt. Tanbris: all the others were already busy with their day, be it their duties, training, or anything else. Luke was somewhat relieved not to have to talk to them: he didn't feel like explaining his situation now.

“Ensign Lars,” Lt. Tanbris called him, looking somewhat surprised. “Where have you been? You didn't check in yesterday with the rest of the squadron.”

Luke shrugged, earning himself a frown from the other officer, and handed him his orders.

“I was given this for you, sir,” he said.

Lt. Tanbris didn't comment any further, instead taking the datapad and turning it on. A growing look of understanding appeared on his face as he read.

“Well, it seems your career is off to a fine start,” he lightly said, throwing Luke a disapproving glance before telling him of his duties. The young man listened attentively, then took back the datapad, thanking the lieutenant while trying to repress a grimace of displeasure. Maintenance, paperwork, and watch duty: he had no doubt Vader had done it on purpose to give him the most boring tasks available. But then, it was supposed to be a punishment...

After a short trip to the refresher, he set out to find the officer in charge of his station. The man, a tall lieutenant with light brown hair, redirected him to the hangars, telling him to check with the chief flight tech what had to be done.

The job was just as tedious as he had expected. The whole morning, he had to perform menial tasks all across the hangars, watching the ships from the corner of his eye and unable to suppress some measure of wistfulness at the sight. Finally, he was able to catch a breath as he sat on a crate in a small storage room, weary and tired, enjoying the calm that reigned there. He felt as though he could collapse at any moment, and was certain that if he were to lie on the ground, he would fall asleep in less than a minute.

With another sigh – he had no idea how many he'd already uttered that day, he looked around him. The room was filled with lots of different things, mostly spare parts and tools, supplies, or objects needing to be repaired. It was a mess, far less organised than any room Luke had ever entered on the Star Destroyer.

He was taken out of his observation by a high chirping electronic sound. Scanning the room, it didn't take him much time to find its origin: a domed astromech droid, all painted in black, was rolling towards him.

“Hey,” he said, smiling. “You alone in here?”

The droid twirped again, something that Luke didn't understand, but which sounded a little like a confirmation.

“Me too,” he confessed. “I made a mistake so I can't do my job any more. I'm a pilot, but right now I'm doing repairs and stuff 'cause my boss decided to ban me from flying.”

A sound Luke thought seemed commiserating, although he didn't catch its meaning any more than before, came out of the little guy, making the young man's smile widen. He wished he knew binary: it would be far more handy to communicate with the small droid.

“Yeah, I know, it sucks,” he said, half in the dark as he had no idea what he was replying to. “Hopefully he'll soon... Hey, what are you doing?”

The astromech had rolled right towards him with a long trill, and was now bumping repeatedly into his shins, just enough to make his demands clear, but not enough to hurt. Luke had to bite his lower lip to keep his laughter down.

“I'm sorry, I don't understand what you want,” he said. Struck by an idea, he looked around. “Wait, maybe I know what we need.”

A bit further, in the middle of all the mess, he unearthed an old binary translator, that he managed to get working after somewhat fiddling with it, and plugged into his newfound friend.

“There, that should work better... So, what were you telling me?”

_I need repairs,_ the screen read in green Aurebesh letters. _Small. My sensors. Been here for weeks but nobody has time!_

“Really?” Luke said. “That's terrible. Don't worry, I'll fix you up in no time.”

There was a pack of tools lying next to him, and he lost no time in grabbing it, opening the droid's panel as he searched for the problem. Repairs were something he really enjoyed doing, and for a moment he felt like he was back in his uncle's workshop, tending to droids they'd bought second-hand to the Jawas to help them with the farm's vaporators.

“There, I see. It's your video sensor all right, a faulty contact somewhere... By the way, how do I call you? You got a name, a designation or something?”

Another beep rang, and the young man looked up for a second to read his answer. _W4-L3._

“I'm Luke,” he answered, still focused on his work. “Nice to meet you, Weefour.”

It took him a few more minutes to finish the job. He checked a last time if everything was in place, then closed the panel's hatch and his toolbox, straightening up.

“There, all set,” he told the droid, patting his dome as he got back on his feet. “It really was nearly nothing.”

He didn't need the translator, this time, to understand his new friend's exultant tweeting as he bumped in his legs again, nearly making him fall down.

“That's all right, you're welcome,” Luke answered with a laugh.

Weefour's enthusiasm was contagious, and the young man found that he felt much better. Helping the little astromech had alleviated a little of the guilt that weighed on his heart; it was hard to remain serious and worried around him.

“Lars? That's where you are!”

The chief tech's voice in the doorway made Luke turn around, suddenly remembering he wasn't yet off duty as he faced his superior.

“Sorry, sir. I was just tending to this small droid,” the young man answered.

“Yes, well. If you are finished there are other things that need to be done.”

The man then began detailing his next assignment to him, and Luke followed him out of the room, sending a discrete wink at Weefour before leaving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Doubleyoofour" is a terrible droid name, so in the GFFA they call the letter "W" differently than here.


	8. Watched

Luke spent the rest of his day constantly running around to help the techs in the hangar. His superior had noticed he had a keen eye for mechanics and a gift for fixing machines, and Luke hadn't had a minute for himself after his short break. Never had he understood so well the saying according to which there was always something to be done on a ship; on a warship longer than a kilometre and a half, he supposed that was even truer. 

By the time night-cycle was approaching, he was hardly able to stand, so exhausted even walking was a huge effort. The chief tech clearing him had felt like a deliverance, the mere idea of finding back his bunk tantalising, and he he had the impression his jaw would soon drop out with all the yawns he'd been repressing with more or less success. Yet here he was, dragging his feet and trying to lose time, poking at his datapad as he tried to convince himself to move on and get it over with.

He didn't feel at all like reporting to Vader's quarters. His commanding officer was strict and daunting, never satisfied, and while these were traits that Luke respected he had no energy left to endure another lecture on responsibility and obedience. But these weren't all the reasons he was reluctant to go. After their last encounter, a deep sense of danger had begun growing inside him, an instinct screaming to him to get as far from the man as he could. To willingly show up at his door went against all these feelings, and his tired mind, that the lack of rest had probably deprived of a part of its abilities for logic and productive thought process, kept picturing a thousand terrible scenarios where he never walked away from these quarters.

He shook his head and raised his chin with determination, shaking off the baseless fears. There was no way he'd let himself be intimidated by so little. There was but one thing to do anyway: go straight to his commanding officer with his head held high, and whatever would happen afterwards was out of his hands. Forcing himself not to think of it any longer, he headed for the Dark Lord's personal rooms with a deliberately quick pace.

As soon as he had taken his finger off the intercom, Vader's door opened, and he invited him inside with his deep and rumbling voice, that resonated through all of Luke's bones. Without hesitation, the young man crossed the threshold and advanced towards the same spot as the night before, standing at attention as he offered the datapad containing his supervisor's observations on his workday to his commanding officer with a steady hand.

The room was dark, and there was nearly no furniture against the black painted walls. The only thing of interest was a spherical pod of some sort, with a strange zigzagging pattern in the middle of it, probably an opening. Luke had never seen anything like it, but forced himself not to wonder about the mysterious object and to stay focused on the here and now, certain Lord Vader would not appreciate his curiosity.

The man was as motionless as Luke himself was, seeming completely absorbed in his reading, and the young man couldn't help observing him from the corner of his eye. Deciphering him was difficult, completely clad in black as he was with his mask covering his face, but he didn't seem to be in a particularly aggressive mood. His head was tilted down towards the screen, his left hand casually holding the datapad as his right scrolled down the text. At the moment, he nearly looked like any other officer, and for the first time Luke had the absolute certainty that under all this intimidating gear, he was just human like all of them.

“Are you unable to remain at proper attention, Ensign Lars?”

The moment was broken by Vader's dry tone, who hadn't even lifted his gaze to berate him, and the young man straightened with an apology as he looked ahead of him again, angry against himself, a knot of anxiety tying itself once more in his guts. _Way to make a good impression, Luke._

At last Vader turned the screen off and set the datapad down on the table next to him, directing all his attention on Luke. The young man reminded himself to breathe, not daring even peek at the Dark Lord as he took a step towards him.

“It seems I must congratulate you on your good work, Ensign,” Vader said. “Your superior was satisfied with your performance and described you as efficient and diligent.”

Luke thanked him, a surge of hope lifting his heart at these words. Perhaps Vader would reinstate him sooner than he had planned to, then...?

“Maybe I should let you stay working as a flight technician rather than a pilot, as you obviously find it easier to obey orders in that function.”

The young man's jaw tightened, swallowing his protests as he considered Vader's words with a sense of wonder. Was that a _joke_...?

“I assure you, my lord, I will not ignore an order like I did yesterday any more,” he said, completely sincere, hoping the Dark Lord wasn't seriously considering keeping him grounded indefinitely. He didn't even want to think of that possibility: the idea of not taking flight again in years was unbearable.

Vader tilted his head, his hands set on his belt.

“I am most interested in knowing why that happened in the first place.”

Luke's heart fastened, his mouth dry. He remembered that urgent feeling that had taken hold of him, rendering him unable to think coherently, demanding that he yield to its impulses. How could he admit that to him, and ever hope to be taken seriously? It was ridiculous. Besides, he knew he could never explain it satisfyingly, especially when he didn't understand it in the first place... 

“Do not think of lying to me,” Vader warned, so attuned to Luke's thoughts the young man nearly started, deeply unsettled. “I want the truth, and nothing else.”

Luke hesitated a moment more, then took a deep breath, resigning himself to being ridiculed and possibly deemed crazy. He took the plunge, the words coming out of his mouth jumbled and confused, before he could completely think them through.

“I have no idea,” he confessed. “For a moment, I had the strangest feeling, as if something was screaming at me not to fire, and the consequences would be terrible if I did. I tried to ignore it, but it was so strong I couldn't resist... I have no explanation for it.”

His commanding officer didn't answer immediately, watching him intently. Once again, Luke felt the dark tendrils of cold wrap themselves around his limbs, probing him, searching him, and the thought jumped to his mind that perhaps _Vader_ was at the origin of it...

“You have powerful instincts, young one.”

Luke didn't answer, unnerved by what he could hear in the Dark Lord's quiet voice, without a clue to what it meant. Never had he felt so utterly out of his depth.

“Tell me about your life on Tatooine,” Vader then asked, completely changing the subject. “You were adopted, I believe?”

The young man frowned, taken aback again. What did that have to do with anything? Why was Vader even interested in it?

“Yes, my lord,” he reluctantly answered. “I was taken in by my aunt and uncle after my parents died.”

“Do you know anything about them?”

Luke's heart missed a beat. He couldn't know, it was impossible, he had been careful...

“Very little, sir. They died when I was born, I never knew them,” he answered, uncomfortable with the pang of sorrow and longing that seized him as he talked.

He wished the Dark Lord would stop his inquiries, and not only because how dangerous this was for him. Regardless of the peril, it wasn't a subject he wanted to discuss with his commanding officer at all.

“Tell me.”

Vader didn't move, his gaze still unwaveringly set on Luke, who despite his efforts to repress it felt fear steadily growing in him. What did he know? What could he tell? It was like trying to navigate quicksand, not knowing where to set foot, but aware that the slightest misstep would swallow him whole.

“My father was a pilot,” he ended up saying, his voice close to a whisper. “I don't remember anything about my mother.”

He couldn't help looking down in grief and in embarrassment, ashamed of disclosing such personal feelings. How lonely he'd felt, how much yearning and melancholy had filled him when he was a boy, and the other kids were complaining about their fathers or comparing them proudly. It was a part of his childhood he'd always tried to keep deep inside him, and he hated that he had made the Dark Lord privy to this most vulnerable facet of himself.

At least he'd managed avoiding to mention he was the son of a Jedi. He hoped Vader wouldn't press, that his answers had been enough for him...

Fortunately, Vader took his questioning in a completely different direction.

“Did you know a man called Obi-Wan Kenobi?”

“No, sir,” Luke immediately answered, glad for the change of subject, before remembering something. “There was Old Ben, though. Ben Kenobi. He was an old hermit living past the Dune Sea when I was younger, I saw him from afar sometimes when I was hanging out in Anchorhead. He disappeared a few years ago, I have no idea what he became since.”

The Dark Lord nodded, and Luke wondered what his words had taught him, what was so important in these seemingly unrelated questions. He dearly hoped Vader had taken all that he wanted from him, however. He had reached the limits of his resistance, and feared that if Vader kept him any longer, he would just fall unconscious on the ground without a warning.

“Very well,” Vader ended up saying, waving his hand. “You may go.”

Luke nodded crisply, before turning back and crossing the threshold of the door Vader had seemingly caused to open without touching any control, his steps measured. He wasn't afraid.

However, the sound of the door closing on him, separating him from the Dark Lord, brought him a wave of relief. That was over for today. As quickly as he could without actually looking like he was hurrying, he made his way towards his squadron quarters.

He let out a breath upon entering the familiar rooms, feeling like he was coming home after ages of being away. He was of half a mind of heading straight for his bunk and dropping dead there when his rumbling stomach reminded him he hadn't eaten anything that day, and so he headed for the living room instead, intent on grabbing a snack and a glass of water before getting some well-deserved rest at last.

The lights were on when Luke arrived. Dark Curse, Vil and Chaser were sitting on the couches, talking quietly of things Luke couldn't really hear, but so enthralled in their conversation they didn't immediately notice him coming.

“Hi guys,” Luke casually threw at them, heading towards the cooling unit.

There weren't a lot of things left to either eat or drink, he noticed, reminding himself to replenish the unit whenever he could as he picked a food ration. As the youngest of the squadron, it was one of his unofficial, but no less important, duties. It had its perks, as he could choose himself what he brought back from the stocks, but it also meant that he was given the cold shoulder every time he was a bit late in making sure they had everything they needed.

“FNG?” an incredulous voice sounded behind him after a second.

Surprised by the strange tone, Luke turned around, his hunger all but forgotten. Three astonished gazes were fixed on him as if an unknown beast had just stepped into their space. The worst of them was Chaser, whose jaw was hanging open, gaping at him.

“Yeah, nice to see you too,” he answered slowly, trying to gauge the situation. “What happened? You look like you've just seen a ghost.”

“Damn if we haven't,” Chaser roughly replied. “Where the kriff have you been?!”

“I – I've just been grounded,” Luke said, more and more taken aback by the strong reactions. “Not fun, but no big deal either...”

His wingmate snorted.

“Right, no big deal,” he scoffed.

“Come sit with us,” Vil invited before explaining, seeing how confused Luke was. “We thought you were a goner. We haven't seen you since you left with Lord Vader after the battle...”

“Oh,” the young man said as he took a seat next to them, suddenly understanding. “You thought he'd killed me.”

He knew all too well how close that had been from happening. He still wasn't sure how he was alive, either.

“That was the logical conclusion to draw when you didn't come back yesterday night,” Dark Curse explained. “Nobody felt much like sleeping, so we had a drink together in memory of Backstabber, and we thought we'd wait for you to return. After about an hour, we had to face reality.”

“I see,” Luke whispered. “So... Backstabber... he's really...”

A shadow of grief obscured Vil's face.

“Yeah,” he simply said.

Luke nodded without saying a word as Dark Curse sighed and Chaser looked down blankly. He hadn't known the red-haired Corellian very well, hadn't even learnt his real name, but he'd taken a liking to his dry humour and deadpan way of speaking. It sent a pang to his heart to realise he'd never see that crooked and wry grin any more.

“So, tell us,” Chaser intervened, apparently eager to change the subject, “since Lord Vader obviously didn't break your neck, what happened?”

“He just dressed me down,” Luke explained. “Told me what I did was unacceptable and irresponsible and that I'd better watch out. Then he confined me to the brig for the night and told me I wouldn't take flight again until he decided to lift the punishment. I've been following flight techs all day, tomorrow I think I'm on watch most of the day, and I've got to report to him every evening.”

“What did you do?” Vil asked, frowning. “That battle was a mess, I don't remember a lot.”

Luke looked down and smirked, the stupidity of it hitting him right in the face, now that everything was said and done.

“He ordered me to fire, I asked for confirmation, and I didn't do it before he told me to a second time.”

Vil's eyes widened.

“You should be dead,” Chaser mumbled. “You've got no idea how lucky you are.”

Luke nodded, still remembering the encounter of the night before.

“I know,” he muttered, recalling the threat in Vader's voice, his mechanical breath so close to his ear, his cloak brushing his boots, and the silvery gleam of the weapon at his side, that he'd dreaded was going to rise and separate his head from his body any minute. “He's terrifying.”

“Any commander would've lodged you a bolt in the back of the neck in his place,” Chaser retorted. “You can't just ignore orders like that, all it does is make you a liability!”

Luke let out an annoyed breath.

“Well then take your blaster and do it yourself, but don't lecture me,” he shot back, fed up with his wingman's unexplainable coldness, his patience shortened by his fatigue and the stress of two meetings with Vader.

“At least we wouldn't have to worry about you getting yourself and the mission blown up,” Chaser said, his tone sharper.

“You've got no business telling me what to do,” Luke snapped. “You're not my commanding officer, you're not my father!”

“Shame, clearly he didn't do his job and educate you.”

“Because he's dead,” Luke briskly said. “Tell me how he should've done that since you're so clever?”

“Better than the one who actually raised an undisciplined runt like you for sure,” Chaser replied, looking him dead in the eye.

That was the last straw. Without a thought, Luke rose up, seeing red, intent on beating Chaser bloody to the ground. Immediately Vil and Dark Curse were standing as well, holding him back.

“Lars! Stop!”

“You _huttuk stoopa kung_ –”

He struggled for a moment, insulting Chaser in Huttese, before realising it wasn't going to lead him anywhere and stopping, slightly out of breath as he glared at his wingmate instead. The two other pilots released him, throwing worried looks at the both of them. As to Chaser, he hadn't moved at all, still sitting casually and looking at Luke with utter disdain written on his face.

“Just like I said. An underage Outer Rim runt.”

Luke tightened his fists again, forcing himself to take deep breaths through gritted teeth. Never mind the fact that Chaser was a head bigger than him, never mind that he was twice as broad, Luke had to exert the biggest amount of restraint in order not to hurl himself at him all over again, all consequences forgotten.

He didn't get to insult his family, be it his father or his uncle. And he was sick of people trying to pull him down because he reached too high for them, like the other kids on Tatooine who mocked his assurances that one day he'd leave that wretched rock of a planet and fly.

One day nobody would underestimate him again.

Chaser rose up, his dark eyes as cold as ice as the both of them glared at each other.

“I don't know who you think you are,” he said, towering over Luke. “This is not school yard for you to make merry with your toy ships. This is war, this is real! Time to stop dreaming and get down to work like everybody else!”

Luke stared at him for a moment more, refusing to retreat, then he looked down with a slow nod, his lips tightly pursed together.

“Sure,” he said, looking up at him again unflinchingly. “Keep calling me names and telling yourself I'm the child.”

He then took a deliberate step back and headed to the bunk room in a carefully controlled pace, only stopping to throw the rest of his ration bar in the bin with a bit more strength than was necessary. He undressed himself and went to bed, but was unable to find sleep, too fuming to reach any state of drowsiness.

He didn't know how much time had passed when he heard other steps come in. He didn't move, didn't give any sign that he was awake as the person stopped in what had to be the middle of the room, right in front of his bunk.

“Lars?” Chaser's voice whispered.

The words hung in the silence for a second, then when Luke didn't answer, he sighed deeply, before heading to his own bed.

Luke brought the cover higher on his shoulders and closed his eyes, slowly breathing out.

*******

The morning after, feeling like he'd been run over by a speeder, Luke skipped breakfast and headed directly to his station, bored in advance but determined to get it done without a hitch. He was on watch duty on the flight hangars, which meant he'd spend his day recording people taking off and landing and keeping track of the ships that left, came back, possibly needing maintenance or repairs. Again, he had the eerie impression Lord Vader had made it his purpose to tailor the most tedious tasks for him.

Standing not far from the racks, he shot a longing glance at the snubs to which he had sent the pilots that had just reported to him. It hadn't even been two days, and yet he was already yearning to take flight again, missing the delicious sensation of searing into the void. He'd always felt trapped, stuck on the ground. Taking off had been his only way to escape a dull existence of moisture farming on Tatooine, and while life in the Imperial Navy could never be described as such, flying had remained a need for him, a way to calm his mind when it was troubled.

He resisted the urge to sigh. He would definitely have needed the distraction today, as he couldn't take his mind off the argument of the night before. Chaser had made some valid points yesterday, when he had said Luke was a liability. In truth Luke himself was very anxious at the idea that it could happen again, that the feeling could come back and that this time he wouldn't be able to resist it. No matter how much he thought about it, he couldn't understand what had happened; he felt like a freak, a time bomb, not knowing where these hunches came from, this little snippets of knowledge that just seemed to come to him without any explanation.

His eye was caught by a small and black shape coming the way of the ships, and he smiled, recognising the little droid he'd helped the day before. Apparently Weefour remembered him too, for he bleeped as he came next to him.

“Hi, buddy,” Luke said to him when he was close enough. “Everything okay?”

Weefour whistled happily while passing him by, heading to his work, and Luke turned back to look in front of himself again, grinning. His smile soon fell, however, when he saw who was approaching.

“Black Four and Ten coming to take the shift,” Chaser said, looking just as unhappy to have to interact with Luke as the younger man himself felt. Next to him, Qorl was holding himself straight, apparently completely oblivious to the discomfort between them.

Happy to have an excuse to look away, Luke glanced at his datapad with the day's schedule to see which ship his wingmate was assigned to.

“You've got A61-SB-8 and 9,” he said, keeping his tone businesslike and his face neutral as he met Chaser's gaze again. “No special conditions reported.”

Chaser seemed to hesitate for a second, opening his mouth as if to talk, then stopped himself.

“All right, thanks,” he said with a nod, before walking away with Qorl in his wake.

Luke exhaled slowly. This was going to be a very long day. He let his gaze run across the hangar, noticing the small mouse droid who was hurrying and expertly avoiding the soldiers' feet, then ran straight into Weefour, leading to some interaction between them he couldn't make out.

Suddenly a shiver ran through him without any apparent reason, and he looked around, searching for the source. A bit further, like he had half expected, he caught sight of Darth Vader coming out of an elevator with an officer that was too far for Luke to recognise.

Soon after the young man had spotted him, the Dark Lord stopped walking, his mask turning towards him. Even from this distance, Luke felt watched with an intensity that made him uneasy, and he nervously swallowed. The sensation of cold had intensified, moving across his body, trapping him in its curious embrace, an impression that was beginning to feel familiar but no less disquieting. He wished for nothing more that to evade Vader's suffocating gaze, yet couldn't tear his eyes away from him, ensnared in an exchange he had no idea was made of.

An electronic noise was what thankfully tore him from the strange interaction. Weefour was rolling towards him with a beep that sounded just like a sigh.

“What's up?” Luke asked him.

As only explanation, the little droid began playing a holographic recording of the mouse droid he'd just encountered, tweeting something Luke had no trouble understanding despite the lack of a translator between them. A grin slowly appeared on his face.

“Seriously?” he asked, surprised by the unexpected development.

He doubted his small friend had heard it, though, as it continued whistling and twittering in a way that sounded more and more like gushing to Luke. Still feeling the weight of a gaze on him, the boy risked a glance up.

Vader hadn't moved, and was observing him with unnatural stillness that unnerved Luke deeply. _Go away,_ he thought very hard at the cold tendrils that were still shimmering around him. Incredibly, it worked. The sensation receded, and Vader turned his attention back to the officer, the both of them walking away in the corridors.

Absently watching Weefour, Luke wondered once more with dread in his stomach what it was exactly the Dark Lord wanted with him.

*******

“My apologies, Commander Piett.” Dismissing the disturbing feelings the sight of the boy had awakened in him, Vader addressed the man next to him, who despite his perfect bearing didn't manage to conceal a questioning gaze. He had let himself be distracted for too long a time. “You were saying?”

Immediately Piett was back to business, an attitude that pleased the Dark Lord immensely.

“The probe droids have been sent out, my lord,” he said. “We are expecting to receive analysable data within the next days.”

“Good,” Vader praised. “The Rebels must have another base hidden in the sector. I want it to be found as quickly as possible.”

There was no other way they could have sent reinforcements at Carosi XII as soon as they had, he had reasoned. Furthermore, he knew the X-Wings that had attacked the transport his squadron was escorting a few weeks ago had been traced as coming from this part of the galaxy. It was too suspicious to be a coincidence.

For a moment, Vader wondered if the Rebels had known the significance of the cargo of the ship they had attacked, or if it had been a blind assault, launched to weaken them without precisely knowing its consequences. That was another of the reasons for his zeal in locating this base. If it turned out the Rebels had knowledge of the Empire's secret project, swift action would have to be taken, before the information could make its way back to the head of the organisation Vader knew was steadily growing in size and efficiency.

“Yes, my lord,” Piett answered, before bowing respectfully and going back to his duties, leaving the Dark Lord alone.

As he watched the commander walk away, Vader found his thoughts irresistibly attracted towards the boy again, in spite of himself. The young man, with his small build, blonde hair and striking blue eyes, was both annoying and deeply troubling, awakening feelings the Dark Lord had thought buried forever. He recalled the snatched glimpses he had just had of him, distinctly talking and laughing with the small astromech as if he was a friend, with an insouciance Vader had long forgotten. Ancient memories of another boy and another droid rose to his mind, and he crushed them mercilessly.

That time was gone. Dwelling on it was useless.

Vader strolled down the corridor with growing irritation.


	9. Stifled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All my apologies for how long this took! I was on holiday for 2 weeks at the beginning of the month, and then I was hit by a surprisingly strong bit of writer's block... I've finally managed to finish the chapter though. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Also, please check out the wonderful [podfic by lenquo!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11711016) :)
> 
> (Btw for those of you who are on tumblr, I finally gave in and [created an account](https://azalea-scroggs.tumblr.com/). It's just a small thing, I mostly reblog fandom stuff and pictures, but if you want to contact me or make sure I'm not dead while I'm sweating on the next chapters I figure it might be the easiest way ;))

Repressing a yawn, Luke shifted from one foot to another. He had no idea how long he had been standing here, looking around the docking bay, waiting for people to come to him with their orders for directions and looking around a scenery he had begun to know every detail of. His feet were beginning to hurt, and he had to fight against the weight of his eyelids in order not to have them fall on their own. Besides, he had the impression he was slowly turning crazy from always seeing the same images. He needed to move, to do something, or he might die of boredom.

It had been like this for two weeks now: the days had passed, longer than they had ever seemed to him before, filled with wearisome tasks he could never see the end of. Working with the flight techs had been interesting enough, compared with the utter dullness of watch duty and paperwork filing. And he had less free time than ever. The night before he had worked well past 2300, only to carry on with a double shift from 0200 to 0600, and had been stationed here as a deck officer immediately after, with no idea when he would be relieved. He felt both ready to fall asleep right on his feet, and so restless he could have screamed in frustration.

Again, he forced himself to take a deep breath and to focus on the flow of people walking around the decks, working. To think that the first time he had been here, he had imagined a glorious life spent flying and twirling in his small snub, joking around with his squad mates between exercises and adrenaline-packed fights. Now he was forced to remain here, standing for hours without anything to do, and not even knowing if he would take flight again. If it was up to Vader, he would probably spend his whole existence stuck on the deck, watching the others rise in the skies with their fighters while reduced to dreaming of the short time he had been there with them too.

Oh, and how he craved to get back there. It nearly was a physical need by now. He knew it hadn't even been a month yet, that he would probably still be grounded for a time, but if anything it only made it harder to endure. He missed the g-forces on his body as he took his ship into daring manoeuvres, he missed the static and the altered voices over the comm, he missed the silence and the darkness of space and the tiny threads of light the stars became in speed. He wondered how he had spent sixteen years of his life on Tatooine without that, and managed to get along without feeling as miserable as he now was.

As often when glum thoughts were pulling him down, he tried to imagine how his father would have reacted in his place, but today the thoughts didn't bring him any comfort. He probably never had experienced such a situation: Luke had no doubt he had been too clever to do anything as foolish as he had. He wished he could have talked to him about all of that, and yearned for the reassurance his advice would have brought him, had he been there. Lost as he felt, he would have welcomed his guidance.

And then there was Vader. Luke had no idea how to deal with him. His superior seemed constantly watching him, waiting, as though wanting something from him, but what exactly, Luke had no clue, and it was slowly driving him crazy. Surely it couldn't be because of his flying skills alone... Once or twice, he'd had the impression Vader was suspecting his secret, so close had he been with his questions to coaxing the truth of his parentage out of him. But he knew better than ever confessing to him that he was a Jedi's son. After their betrayal and attack on the Emperor, all Jedi had been declared enemies of the Empire, an edict that according to his aunt and uncle was still effective and applied.

Luke wasn't too sure what to think of all that. He was pretty certain he couldn't be held responsible for whatever his father had done, and that was if he had done anything in the first place, since he had died before the end of the Clone Wars and the rise of the Empire. But he really had but precious little information about that part of history, despite his efforts. Knowledge was scarce on Tatooine, and at the Academy he had cut short his research far earlier than he would have wanted to. Whatever betrayal they had committed, the prejudice against the Jedi in the military was extremely strong, and even mentioning them was regarded with the greatest suspicion.

So Luke had resigned himself to ignorance until he discovered a way to find information – _reliable_ information, not Biggs' claims the Jedi were all slaughtered by their own troops under a phony pretext. Luke just couldn't believe that: it was just as far-fetched as all his other Rebel propaganda. Nationalisation of the commerce was one thing he could consider was happening; but things like wilful extermination of entire species, or children snatched from their home to be experimented on or fed to war beasts were just made up tales to convince people the Empire was evil, it was obvious. Even his best friend hadn't argued too long with him when he'd brought that up. Luke had no doubt the Jedi story fell within the same category.

Nevertheless, despite how uncomfortable it made him, he kept quiet about his late father's occupation, knowing the danger there was in being associated with the Jedi. He'd have preferred not to hide it like this, as if he was ashamed of his heritage, but he had made a promise to his aunt and uncle, and he was well aware of the risks should it ever be uncovered. In the meantime, he did his best to keep as inconspicuous as possible, and tried not to despair from ever being freed of his current situation. He wasn't sure he could endure the pressure and the monotony much longer.

He watched with dispassionate interest as a shuttle landed on the bay, stupidly resentful of her pilot as he watched her slowly make her way down on the deck. The hatch opened and the ramp came down, and he straightened – he would probably soon be required to help. He was both glad for the distraction and bothered in advance by the tedious task.

Before long, indeed, officers in uniform, enlisted soldiers and stormtroopers descended on the bay. Fortunately, he was not the only deck officer here: a couple others were scattered around the huge space, waiting for the new recruits to check in.

Soon enough Luke had his hands full, signing orders sheets and giving pointers to the spacers that came to him, without registering any of their names or faces. It was only when a man who seemed in his early thirties approached him that he was pulled out of his morose reverie.

“Ensign Xin Starfallen, reporting for duty,” the man said, like all the others before him.

Trying to keep an amenable face despite how frustrated he felt with his job, Luke politely took the datapad he was handed. His brow rose up in surprise when he saw where he was stationed.

“You're a pilot? Flying with the 61st?” he asked, looking at him more attentively. Despite the youth of his stern features, his hair was already greying, lighter streaks barely visible under his cover.

“I think so,” he replied. “The famed Black Squadron, isn't it? We're a couple in the same case.”

Luke looked around to see four other people standing a bit behind, listening in expectation as they waited for their turn. They were all dressed in the Navy's black uniforms, their rank plaque similar to his, the same casual but daring expression on their faces.

“Yeah, that's the one,” he answered, feeling somewhat dejected. Was he being replaced by these people? Had Vader decided to keep him grounded for the rest of his serving time here, and found other, better pilots to take his place? He forced himself to come back to the present, casting the doubts away; but the disappointment and the fear stayed.

“That's my squad too,” he said on a whim. “Great team, cool people. I'm sure you'll get along just fine.”

“Really?” the man named Starfallen said, looking surprised. “You're flying too? Is this part of the regular squadron duties?”

“Oh, no,” Luke smiled, shaking his head, trying to sound light-hearted. “I messed up, so I'm temporarily grounded. Nothing more.”

“I see,” Starfallen replied, and Luke couldn't help the sting of bitterness upon noticing he seemed somewhat relieved. _Better me than him, I guess._ “Well, I hope you'll be flying again with us soon.”

 _With us._ Luke tried to ignore how much that hurt. They were going to take off, have a great squadron time, while he'd be forced to look at them from afar as they came back from patrols exhilarated. _But I was here first,_ he thought, fighting the melancholy that was beginning to take a hold of him.

“So do I,” he muttered, before immediately changing the subject, addressing the other men. “You're the other new guys, then? You can already give me your orders, I'll sign them all and then I'll show you the way – you're all going to the same place anyway.”

He carefully read all of their datapads, trying to connect the names to the faces as to remember them the next time he saw them – Cid Crazell was the small man with the half-smile, Chester Mentzer the tall and lean one whose eyes seemed to be both on him and a lightyear away, Varian Flembek the one with the crooked nose, and Paldamar Pryde the middle-aged man with shoulders a bit broader than the others. All of them were at least ten years older than him.

“There,” he said as he gave them back to them. “So the squadron quarters are down the...”

He trailed off and swallowed, paling as he saw the unmistakable figure of his commanding officer approaching them, cape flying behind him. He was being watched yet again, he realised with irritation. Not a day had gone by when he hadn't seen him lurking around at some point, silently keeping an eye on him, or even taking him by surprise to check on whatever he was doing. Well, he was on duty, he was not going to let himself be pulled from it.

“... down the hall, then you take the second on your right, and it's in section 928, easy to find,” he stubbornly finished, violently quashing his unease even as the tall man came to stand not far away from him, his arms crossed while he waited to be acknowledged.

Only then did he put himself at attention, feeling the puzzled gazes of his future teammates as he crossed that of his superior.

“Lord Vader,” he greeted him.

“Ensign Lars,” Vader returned, completely ignoring the other soldiers. “You seem to be taking your time in sending these gentlemen on their way.”

“I was just doing so, my lord,” Luke coldly answered, looking him straight in the eye, slightly taken aback by the injustice. So what if he chatted for a few seconds with them? It wasn't as if he had anything else to do. “I was not aware of any regulations regarding the time it took.”

He was so tired and annoyed the words got out of his mouth before he could hold them back, half of his mind amazed at his own nerve as he immediately realised how bad an idea it actually was. Vader looked at him, and Luke suddenly felt extremely small, ice running in his veins under the Dark Lord's glare.

“You may go,” Vader dismissed the other pilots.

They hesitated for a second, then visibly decided it was wiser to get away from the tension that was about to go down, and saluted before heading down the corridors.

“See, it didn't take me _that_ long,” Luke bitterly whispered.

He jumped as Vader's mask sharply turned towards him, as if incensed by his insolent remark, that Luke hadn't intended for him to hear.

“Do you remember why you have been grounded, boy?” he asked, the danger in his tone making Luke shiver.

He had come close enough that Luke had to crane his neck to look at him, and the young man broke the eye contact, choosing to stare ahead of him instead.

“Because I nearly disobeyed a direct order in battle,” he answered, managing to keep his tone respectful, if a bit strained.

“You have been grounded in order to learn _respect_ and _obedience,_ ” Vader corrected. “Which I observe are still completely lost on you.”

Luke looked down at that, his anger deflating a little bit. Suddenly his brazen remarks seemed incredibly stupid to him, and he felt ashamed of his childishness. Had he just managed to blow his only chance to get back on the squadron? Cursing his temper, he fervently hoped it wasn't the case. Not for such a dumb reason...

“Yes, sir,” he answered. “I'll try to do better, I promise –“

“It is entirely in your interest to do so,” Vader snapped, pointing his finger at him, and Luke struggled to keep his face carefully schooled into neutrality. “If I must, I will not hesitate to take more definitive measures to make sure your unruly arrogance does not disturb the order of this vessel again.”

The young man gulped, frozen in fear, other words raising unbidden to his mind. _Any commander would've lodged you a bolt in the back of the neck in his place._ Surely this wasn't what he was implying... ?

Luke gritted his teeth in anger, fists balling in spite of himself. Unruly arrogance! That was easy for him to say, when he was purposefully driving him out of his wits, following him, watching him, giving him endless days of dull and monotonous work!

“I'll keep it in mind,” he said, looking up to meet Vader's eyes. He should have remained looking forward, at proper attention, part of his brain was telling him; but the rest of his mind was in no state to listen to it, so weary was he of his superior's constant intimidating tactics. He wished he would just tell him what he wanted from him and be done with it.

The cold flames that surrounded him every time Vader was close suddenly flared up, so furious Luke just barely avoided gasping.

“Your tone most displeases me, young man,” he all but spat, a hard metallic edge to his voice. The pilot couldn't tear his eyes from him, petrified. “I do not think you fully understand what I just told you. Should you persevere in your pointless defiance, the consequences will not only affect your career, but your life as well. Have I made myself clear?”

Luke looked down, his heart pounding in his throat in terror and hopeless rage. Why, but why did Vader keep targeting him like this?

“Yes, my lord,” he managed to utter.

“Good,” Vader answered. “I strongly suggest you carefully think about my words, and remember who is in command before I run out of patience. I will see you tonight.”

After this ominous affirmation, he walked away, without even one more glance at the young man. Nails digging in his palms, Luke gritted his teeth hard in order not to scream.

This had been going on for two weeks. His squadmates kept coming and going with all the duties of the fighter squadron, while he was stuck here, trapped under Vader's gaze, scolded every time he put as much as a hair out of line. He hadn't even done anything remotely improper this time... he'd just been an outlet for his superior's bad mood, a puppet for him to evacuate his frustration on. And it wasn't as if he could do anything about it... As the ship's master and commander, Vader had power over any and every one of them. Luke sighed, resigning himself to another few hours of mindless waiting. 

Finally, after he didn't really know how much time, another officer came to relieve him. And relieved he felt, more than he ever remembered being, as he was able to walk from his station and head back to his quarters at last. He hoped this was his last posting of the day: it was a wonder he was still standing on his feet.

The new pilots had probably already gone on their assignments of the day, he reflected, seeing none of them in the squadron's rooms while reporting to Lt. Tanbris. He still vividly remembered his own first day, and how quickly he had been put to work.

The brown-haired officer typed a few sentences in his datapad, then took another that he handed to Luke.

“Lord Vader ordered that you sort and file out these reports before presenting yourself at his quarters,” he said.

Skimming through the many files, Luke couldn't hold back a groan, then immediately caught himself. He threw an apologising glance at Lt. Tanbris, who was fortunately sporting a small smile.

“Courage,” he teased him, not unkindly. “After these your day will be over.”

“But they will take me _hours_ to complete,” Luke bemoaned. “Possibly the whole night, at the speed I'm usually doing this stuff.”

“Well then, it will be much-needed experience for you,” he lightly retorted. “I would advise getting to it as soon as you can.”

He had not raised his voice a single notch, but Luke had learnt to recognise an order when he heard it. “Yes, sir,” he quickly said, before slipping away in the living room.

Luke settled in one of the couches, reasoning that since he was going to be at this for a while, he might as well get comfortable. Crossing his legs, he opened the first file and began browsing more attentively through the documents.

It was an eclectic combination that he had been given: from maintenance reports to prisoners' files, it seemed the only thing linking all of them was that they were all issued from the same vessel. With a silent sigh, Luke began a first sorting before getting to the real work, performing a quick search to remind himself of the procedures and the addresses they were supposed to be sent to. At first it was a hassle, but soon Luke found he began to get the hang of it. He knew where to look in the files for the information he was searching, where to put in his signature code and how to encode them. It was still as uninteresting a job, but at least he was having a rhythm now, and could leave his mind wandering as his fingers were mindlessly working, in a strangely soothing way.

Finally, he brought the everyday stuff to an end, and moved on to the prisoners' reports, looking forward to the moment he could deal with the ship maintenance files, which he had kept for the end. He usually found it easier to work on the things he actually understood and had an interest in, even if the job was technically the same: the fact that he could relate with it about made it seem slightly more entertaining.

He distractedly went through the files, sorting between the different sections of the detention centre. Apparently the battle, for merciless that it had seemed to him, had still allowed them to capture a relatively significant amount of enemies. Luke tried to empty his mind from the implications of that, not to make the connection between the identification numbers and the people that certainly had to be detained in the bowels of the ship. Fortunately, he only had access to a small amount of data, only the barest description of what the files actually held, the minimum needed for administration: any information that could have been held therein was far from his clearance, to his relief.

He had perhaps gotten around to about a tenth of them when a sentence in one of the file summaries made him freeze in horror. _Scheduled for enhanced interrogation._

He frantically checked the security, made sure there hadn't been a breach, that he was actually allowed to see this, but everything was in order. It made sense, he thought as his heart was gradually trying to reach a more normal pulsation: after all, the phrase was pretty innocuous. It wasn't striking, didn't lend itself to much thought, was easily overlooked. Just another piece of military jargon, that only the people in that particular field understood.

Luke looked around to check nobody was there, suddenly feeling exposed and vulnerable. He dearly hoped nobody would enter to find him like this. He tried his best to still the churning in his guts, to curb the memories that he didn't want to resurface, not here, not now.

_... suspects of rebellion lose all of their civil rights..._  
_... horrid treatment of prisoners of war..._  
_... just a way to refer to the practice of torture..._

He stared at the words on the screen, feeling sick. That had been one of the Empire's abuses against which it had been most vocally protested in the secret reunions he used to accompany Biggs to. Already then, Luke had been troubled by the allegations, the lengths the Empire was supposedly resorting to in order to defend the peace. There had been testimonies, cold descriptions of the methods it entailed, all of it designed to horrify and to outrage.

Luke was aware of the ways the Rebels used to make their meagre information look hugely appalling, knew that the tiny speck of reality there might be in these talks had been swelled and deformed by the power of hearsay and propaganda. They were at war, he had told himself, and at war both sides always committed crimes. Still, seeing the words black on white like this, cold and unrepresentative of the real human suffering they prescribed, incontestable proof that there was some grain of truth in the Rebels' words, was nothing short of chilling.

And now he had to endorse it, too.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm the tremor of his hands. Could he do this? Could he send these people to a traumatising and excruciating experience, which would most likely result in their death?

No, he was getting ahead of himself. Refusing to send the files wouldn't change anything to their situation: the decision had already been taken, the preparations even made maybe, while they were awaiting their fate in the cells, unable to escape. He was nothing but a cog in the machine. He didn't have the clearance to delete or to alter the files, and if he didn't sort them or made a mistake in where he sent them, it would be a matter of hours – perhaps minutes – before everything was in its own place again. It wasn't worth it – not when he was already in trouble...

What should he do? His conscience wouldn't let him choose. They were enemies... helping them would amount to treason, to impeding the war effort, which Luke really didn't want to do. But this was wrong on so many levels...

His breath short, he hurried to open the file, typed in his signature code, and sent the file on, a lump in his throat. It was done.

He wiped his face with his hand, shutting his eyes tightly, trying to reign in the mad beating of his heart. It had been the right decision. He was on the Empire's side. These prisoners were enemies. However right or wrong their treatment was, that was for the upper levels to judge. He was but a mere soldier, and his role was to obey orders, not to make ethical conclusions.

Was this the lesson he'd been supposed to learn all along?

The pit of his guts remained contorted through the rest of the files, as he tried his best not to look at the descriptives for too long a time. Even the ship maintenance reports he sifted through as quickly as he could, eager to have the whole thing finished, while usually he might have looked at the designations and wondered which craft each of them applied to. It was a relief to send the very last report onwards and to turn off the datapad screen, which he then threw away from him on the couch, nauseous.

It was over. His day was over. Well, nearly so, in any case: he still had to report to Vader...

He sighed, desperately trying to get oxygen into lungs that seemed too crushed to breathe. He was in no condition, right now, to endure a stressful meeting with his commanding officer, who would undoubtedly notice something was wrong with him. He had to find a way to evacuate the pressure before thinking of going anywhere near him. Sleeping was out of the question, but certainly nobody would begrudge him half an hour for a work out...

Whatever Vader might have thought of being left to wait, he needed it too much not to indulge in it. He rose and took the datapad with him, quickly grabbing a towel and suitable clothes before leaving. He hoped the gym was as deserted as the squadron quarters, at least by his own squad mates.

Unfortunately, the one person present in the large room was among those he least wanted to speak to. Sitting on a bench was Chaser, looking like he just finished his own sport session as he wiped his face dry. For a moment, Luke considered leaving and heading to Vader's quarters directly in spite of his previous intentions, judging it preferable to what promised to be a tense talk with his wingmate. Unfortunately, Chaser had already spotted him, and rose to greet him.

“Hi, FNG,” he said. “You doing okay?”

Luke shrugged, taken aback by the familiarity. They hadn't talked in two weeks – admittedly, they hadn't seen each other in two weeks, the both of them had been so busy. But that Chaser was apparently going to do as if they'd never argued startled Luke a little.

“Could be worse,” he offered, hoping to cut the interaction short. He was still a bit angry at his wingmate, but he didn't have the energy to argue again. 

“Yeah, I guess,” Chaser muttered, looking chagrined. “Listen, I'm glad to see you. I wanted to apologise for the other night. I never meant these things I threw at you, it just... was a rough day for everybody.”

Ah. There it was. Luke was glad to have it the open, but strangely enough, he didn't really want to talk about it. 

“It was mean, what you said about my father and my uncle,” he said. Chaser looked down.

“Yeah, it was,” he admitted. “I shouldn't have.”

They stayed silent for a while, the quiet still a bit strained between them. Luke's resentment was slowly subsiding. He wished for nothing more, right now, than for them to share a patrol shift like they so often did before, or to go for a mock fight in the simulators. What better way to erase all traces of tension between them? But even that was denied to him.

“You did have a point, though, about me being unreliable,” he ended up saying, the words crossing his lips before he could think them through, full of a bitterness he hadn't even realised he felt. “Maybe I shouldn't have tried to be a pilot. I'm not cut out for this. The way it looks like, I'll probably be a deck officer for the rest of my life anyway. It'll be better for everybody.”

To Luke's surprise, and irritation, Chaser scoffed dismissively.

“What are you talking about?” he said. “You're going to be a great pilot. I've never seen someone your age fly like you.”

Luke looked at him more closely, trying to determine if he was joking again, but the smile on his wingmate's face seemed completely sincere.

“You know,” Chaser said, “you remind me a bit of my step-brother. He too is incredibly impatient, always wanting to be the best and frustrated when it takes him too much time to get there. We used to argue all the time – he couldn't stand whatever advice I gave him. He learnt.”

“What's he doing now?” Luke asked.

Chaser smiled.

“He's also a pilot. And a damn good one too, from what I heard. Turr Phennir.”

Luke nodded, not knowing what to answer. He'd never had any sibling, despite wanting a sister at some point in his childhood. He confusedly wondered how it must be like.

“Are you sure you're okay?” Chaser ended up asking, staring at him. “You're as white as a sheet.”

Luke tried a smile, feeling a bit lighter already.

“I'm fine. It was a long day, is all. I came to exercise a little before reporting to Vader...”

Anxiety reawakened in his stomach at the thought.

“Tough,” Chaser commiserated. “Well, at least you'll have your evening free tonight. It's still early enough.”

Luke nodded. That being said, if he kept procrastinating, he'd never get it done.

“All right,” he said, standing up. “I'd better get to work.”

“Right,” Chaser answered. “I'll see you tonight then. No hard feelings?”

Luke smirked.

“I don't know. I'm half-tempted to have you make it up to me, like, by doing all my chores in my stead for a week,” he joked.

Chaser chuckled.

“In your dreams, hotshot. Good luck for your meeting.”

“Thanks,” Luke answered as he walked away, before muttering to himself, heading towards the machines. “I've got a feeling I'll need it.”


	10. Breaking point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, I'm not dead! This took forever and I'm very, very sorry. My life has been - and still is, to be honest - pretty full, and I've had the worst writer's block I've possibly ever had... which I only got out of with difficulty and no small thanks to the support of [maedre13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maedre13/) and [Slx99](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slx99/), who are amazing and whom I thank. I can't promise my update rhythm will pick up again to what I did at the beginning of this story, but I'll definitely try to get out the next chapter before next month ^^
> 
> This chapter is pretty dark - trigger warnings for pretty graphic descriptions of violence (strangulation), and the consequences thereof on the victim. It will get a bit cheerier and lighter afterwards again.

_A woman, dressed for sleep, standing on a balcony, playing with a strand of curly brown hair. He is watching her as she talks, carelessly, of dreams and plans for the future, of their baby and how she sees life after the birth. He answers, a smile on his face, with ideas and feelings of his own, but neither of their attentions is on the content of their conversation. They are too thrilled with finding each other again, with enjoying each other's presence after such a long separation. He begins flirting, complimenting her, and she replies, their words clumsy and senseless, but their emotion true, radiant. Finally he approaches and kisses her, and she throws her arms around his neck, the three of them lost in bliss._

Darth Vader opened his eyes, his heart beating fast and hard, only to find himself in his meditation chamber. His whole body was shaking in longing and in grief, the memory of Padmé's breath still on his lips as she was torn from him all over again. It was but an illusion: she was long gone, dead by his hand. 

He rose up and roared in anguish, too far in his rage to care about the instruments shrinking and imploding around him. These feelings were useless! He was over this, had been for a long time! Why was he subjected to these images again now, years after they had finally stopped tormenting his nights and days? They could no longer hurt him. He wouldn't let the past affect his current life. Her death had been the will of the Force, precipitated by Obi-Wan's doing, despite all his efforts to prevent it. There was nothing he could do to change it.

He rubbed his scarred and bald face with his fingers, relishing the burning anger simmering in the pit of his guts. Mechanical hands, forever bound in leather, instruments of death and torture rather than the tenderness they once were capable of, in his own image.

These emotions didn't befit him. He shouldn't let himself be bothered in this way, shouldn't be this weak, prey to his own sentiments. He opened his mind to the Force again, let it feed off him and revelled in the promises of power and radiance it brought him. He was strong. He had grown. He was better than this now.

And yet his chest was still aching with a yearning he couldn't suppress, a helpless wish for the vision to return and engulf him in everlasting oblivion.

It was all because of this boy, he thought in fury and loathing, this insolent young pilot strong with the Force, so full of life, too much like he had once been. Ever since the youth had entered his squadron, he had been troubled by him and his potential. His naiveté, coupled with his raw talent, brought back reminiscences of a time when he too had had such optimistic expectations of the world around him... happier times, before he had been confronted with the harsh truth of the universe.

It was driving him insane. The boy was insolent and brash, and nothing seemed to be taming him. For weeks now, he had been behind him, watching his every movement, reprimanding him as soon as he made a step out of line, and the young pilot yet had to show signs of giving in. If anything, it had only made him more rebellious... The encounter of the morning replayed itself in his mind, Lars' incensed remarks at his superior's intrusion.

A bitter smile found his lips. He had to hand it to him, he had guts. Few would have dared to oppose him this way, but he didn't hesitate a moment before speaking out against what he obviously considered to be a blatant injustice. Vader had to admit a grudging respect had grown in him, warring with his irritation at his lack of progress. It was infuriating.

So was the mystery around him. The Sith Lord had encountered many Force-sensitive children, but this youth intrigued him in ways no other ever had. Why hadn't he been discovered at birth, when the test had been performed? What was Kenobi doing next to him, on the barren planet that was Tatooine? Why did he have the impression the boy was hiding something from him? And why, oh why was the Force around him calling him in this way, beckoning him, directing half his thoughts towards him, to the point of obsession? The facts where dancing in his head, like puzzle pieces he didn't know how to make a proper picture out of.

But he would discover all of that. He would bring that young pilot to heel, break his confidence and extract all the answers out of him, whether he wanted it or not. He would teach him the mercilessness of existence and shatter all his illusions, just like his own had been, so long ago. It would be doing him a favour, after all: he should already be dead by his hand... more than once had he experienced the desire to kill him, and then refrained himself out of curiosity and determination to see to the bottom of this.

His comlink beeped, and he looked down at it. It was a member of the technical team: hopefully they had finally detected the Rebel base. Locking his feelings deep into his mind, Vader sat down again and waited for the mask to descend on his face, a remain of annoyance still lingering inside him.

The hyperbaric chamber opened, and he made his chair turn around to face the officer waiting there.

“Yes, Lieutenant,” he invited him to speak.

“My lord, we have received the first data from the probes,” he said. “We have been able to compile a list of places likely to host the Rebels.”

Vader took the datapad he was handed. Finally, some progress.

“Very well,” he waved him distractedly. “You are dismissed.”

He didn't pay attention to the man as he walked away, already entirely focused on the datapad and the list of planets. There were a dozen places written down, with all the data concerning them attached. At first glance, none of them struck him as particularly obvious to hide a decent number of insurgents: he would have to meditate on it further, to study the files in depth to draw correct conclusions, as he had no doubts members of the team were already doing, albeit without the aid of the Force. He shifted in his chair, welcoming the distraction.

He had already ruled out about three planets when the comlink rang again. Vader checked the time with trepidation, feeling a Force signature that had become familiar outside the door. The boy was late: he had taken longer than he thought with the paperwork he had given him. Many emotions were whirling around him: tiredness, fear, anger, frustration, as expected, as well as a more surprising sense of guilt and despondency. Tonight's encounter would be interesting.

Vader rose up and left the pod, waiting for it to close and taking his time to give the command for the door to open, feeling like a predator waiting for his prey. It was strange, this expectation, this anticipation to see him and hear what he had to say, even while he wished for nothing more than to have him out of his life.

Lars entered as he was invited, looking exactly as he had in the morning: rigid as a plank of durasteel, his skin pale, dark circles under his eyes. His lips were pinched in something Vader could not decide was irritation or just exhaustion, a way to keep himself grounded in reality. He was absently looking forward, and didn't react as Vader approached him.

Good. Things were evolving: tiredness seemed to have eroded his insolence. Perhaps he would prove more malleable today, and finally give him some of the answers he was so desperate to obtain. He was growing increasingly impatient with his constant eluding him.

“Ensign Lars,” Vader greeted him as per his habit. “You are later than I expected you.”

The boy blinked.

“I apologise, my lord.”

His voice was strained, a mere whisper, and Vader could not discern anything in it, nor in his gaze as he handed him the datapad with the paperwork he'd given him. Vader set it aside, ostentatiously disinterested in it, even though it must have taken the boy a long time to finish sorting it; but the young pilot didn't respond. He pressed further, pleased to see him so subdued, and yet strangely disappointed at the lack of reaction.

“Now,” he said, no longer bothering with wrapping things up, his voice soft, cold, and dangerous. “I want you to tell me about Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

The boy swallowed, shot him an incredulous glance, then caught himself.

“I know no such man, my lord,” he answered, a tired edge in his voice, which was understandable, considering the amount of times he had already answered that question.

“Ben Kenobi, then, if you insist on denying these were the same man,” he pressed on, a dance long practised.

Lars uttered a hopeless sigh.

“He was an old hermit, living beyond the Jundland Wastes. I rarely saw him, my uncle didn't like me being near him.”

“How 'rarely' did you see him?”

“Maybe once every few months. Always from afar.”

“He never taught you anything?”

The boy frowned, making eye contact with him for the briefest of seconds. That was a new inquiry; one Vader, although he had often wondered about it, had never asked so directly. He was pleased to see the young man surprised.

“Taught me? What would he have taught me?”

“Answer the question,” Vader snapped.

“No, my lord, he didn't,” the young pilot replied. He was trying to hide it, but Vader could see he was losing patience. 

And so was he. As usual Vader could find nothing but truth in his words, his answers hardly revealing anything new. And maybe that was his fault, always asking the same questions, trying to wear him down when it might simply be that the answers weren't there. Yet no matter how many other angles he tried to imagine, his reasoning always came back to Obi-Wan. The boy was too strong for it to be a coincidence that his old master had lived next to him. If only he could discover why, since Lars seemed practically untrained... or had the art of it been so subtle that Vader couldn't even notice it, as unlikely as it seemed? Now that was a new thought.

“Not even to conceal lies under a veil of truth?” he probed. “Not even to protect your mind from those who would invade it?”

The boy started, throwing him a terrified glance. Finally. _Finally_ a crack in his façade, a hint that might lead to discovery.

“I didn't even know that was possible,” he faintly said.

Again no sign of lie was to be found in his words, like another red herring; but Vader held on.

“But you would not give me any other answer were I right, would you?” he pressed. “You would feel protected enough to try to fool me. And it may have worked until now, but no more.”

He called the power of the Force, pushing against the boy's consciousness. Lars gasped and shuddered, but the meagre resistance he put up against him was not enough to keep him out completely, despite his carefulness: one had to be prudent when dealing with the delicate matters of the mind. He had no intention of sending him into madness quite yet...

“What? No!” the boy said indignantly. “What I've told you was true, all of it! I swear!”

Once more the Force echoed the veracity of his words, and Vader could find no dissonance in his mind either. There was but a vague sense of dissimulation around him, as if he was trying to conceal a secret; but what exactly, he couldn't find. He couldn't even determine if it was a relevant thing, or just a natural reaction for any being whose intimacy was assaulted like this. Without paying attention to the young man's grunt of pain, he withdrew in a surge of rage and turned away, clenching his fists to reign in a murderous intent.

“That remains to be seen,” he snarled, a vibroblade in his voice. “I am going to figure you out, boy, sooner or later. It would be in your own interest to stop playing these games.”

He was so tired of this boy and the mystery around him, of the young pilot's insolence and way of evading his questions, of his obsession for him that he couldn't shake. He wanted him _gone_ , together with the burning need to elucidate every circumstance of his life; wanted him to never have crossed his path and disturbed his peace of mind in the first place.

A whisper attracted his attention.

“I'm not the one playing games.”

Vader swirled around.

“What did you say?” he asked.

Fury was blinding him, but not enough for him to miss the way Lars licked his lips, clearly regretting his words, and pondering whether to repeat them or take them back. He stilled completely, hatred for this too, too familiar young man swelling inside him, watching his every feature to see what he would do. 

The boy was walking an extremely thin line. Already the urge to strike was rising in him, but he refrained it for a little while, enjoying the unnatural restraint he put on himself as he waited for his reaction. Oh, he was at the end of his patience... if he dared make _one more wrong step_...

Lars tilted his head up and looked him in the eye.

“I said I'm not the one playing games, sir,” he repeated.

Without a word, Vader extended his arm, unleashing the roaring power of the Force. Immediately Lars' breath was cut in a strangled sound, his mouth opening and closing as he vainly tried to get air into his lungs. His fingers shot to his throat, fumbling to grasp at the invisible hand that was restraining him, his eyes wide open, looking at him pleadingly. As only response Vader slightly raised his hand, and the boy's feet left the ground, leading him to kick and wriggle uselessly in the air.

“I most certainly am done playing, young one,” he whispered, taking a vicious satisfaction in the overwhelming terror that was flooding the Force in waves, like a dying star sends its last rays before collapsing on itself.

He had gone too far, defied him one too many times. It was time for him to get his due.

He took one more step forward, fingers of metal joining the immaterial ones around the boy's neck and pinning him against the wall. His artificial sensors allowed him to feel the skin and muscles under his grasp, the blood beating wildly in his veins, the smaller fingers frantically tugging on his own and the boots hitting his shins. He drank in the sensation, the power that the young man's panic at the slow knowledge he was going to die brought to his rage, and let it feed the dark side of the Force, madly whirling around the both of them.

It was a wonder he hadn't reached this conclusion before now. How many times had he longed to do this...

The boy closed his eyes, hunching his shoulders in another attempt to free himself from the pressure on his throat, voiceless guttural noises escaping him in his agony. His lips were changing colour, his face reddening, and through the Force Vader could feel his consciousness dim, his light diminishing, gradually vanquished by overwhelming shadows. He was fainting; it was but a matter of minutes now before –

Suddenly an invisible force tugged on his hand, and his fingers involuntarily twitched, loosening their grip on the boy for a fraction of a second, just enough time for him to heave in a gulp of air and regain an ounce of his strength. Astonished, he opened his hand and let the young man fall to his knees, staring at him as he coughed and wheezed on the ground with senseless moans of pain.

It was impossible. No unaware, untrained Force-sensitive should be able to resist him like this. Slightly frightened and frustrated beyond all measure, Vader bent to seize him up again, this time by the front of his shirt. Lars weakly cried out in protest, but the Sith Lord paid him no heed.

“Who trained you?” he roared to the terrified boy.

Lars looked transparent, shaking like a leave caught in a whirlwind. He tried to speak, only for a groaning cough to leave his lips.

_“Answer me!”_

“I – no one, I – I don't know what you're talking about –“ the boy croaked.

Vader's glowing blade was under his throat before he could even finish his sentence, and he cried out hoarsely.

“This is the last time I repeat it,” he went on. “It is pointless to lie to me. I know you are a Jedi apprentice, and I want you to tell me who your master is now!”

The boy was hyperventilating, tears streaming down his cheeks. “No! I'm no Jedi! Please – I don't know – p-please...”

He kept on repeating it over and over, frantic supplications and denials of knowing anything. Aware he would get nothing out of him in this state, Vader turned off his lightsabre and let him go. Lars collapsed in a heap of nerves, unable to stand on his own from the shock, the fear and the pain. The Sith Lord stayed motionless, looking down on him as he sobbed at his feet, trying to catch his breath through a damaged throat, his eyes shut down tightly and his features contorted in distress.

It was impossible, and yet it was true. Weak as he was, no information of any worth could be gotten from the boy, but the Force that clung to him was screaming of truth and desperate honesty. He was completely untrained, oblivious of what the Force even was. Whatever he was able to do with it was completely instinctual.

And yet what strength was his, what raw power lay untouched in his slender form! Vader could hardly believe it. He had already known him to be strong, but not to this extent, not to the point of fighting him – and overpowering him, even for the briefest moment – without any kind of previous practice. His potential had remained untapped and hidden for so long; who could say what else he was capable of?

Vader knew he should finish what he had just begun, and take the boy's life before he had the chance to do any damage. He was a threat, a loose cannon that would prove utterly disastrous should he ever be used against them: every passing day made that clearer. But a far more enticing alternative was presenting itself to his mind, eclipsing all thoughts of killing him. If he could take him as an apprentice...

Now that the idea had entered his mind, it didn't let him go. To turn him, to teach him, to be the one to tame this wild power, to explore this unknown well of undiscovered gifts: it was too alluring a thought to pass. What a team they would make in their combined strength! His head spun merely picturing it: they would be unstoppable... 

For the third time that evening, his comlink beeped, and he took a step back to answer it.

“My lord, the Emperor commands you make contact with him,” the holograph of an officer said.

“I will be there shortly.”

He hung up, reporting his attention on the boy, who was picking himself up on wobbly legs, throwing him a terrified glance. He would have to deal with him later, he thought with some irritation. A shame... but then, maybe it was for the best. His anger was not completely spent yet, and he would need a cooler head as well as a lot more patience as he now had in order to win him over.

“Return to your quarters,” he dismissed him.

Lars didn't need to be told twice, and hurried away without a word. Trying to drive him out of his thoughts, Vader headed to his communications chamber. That must have been why he was so drawn to him, he mused... even though he hadn't immediately noticed his sensitivity, he must have felt it, to a certain level. The Force sometimes worked in unfathomable ways: such was its place at the core of life itself that it couldn't always be understood, and more often than not its signals could only be experienced through one's instincts. It made mastery of it difficult, but all the more fascinating.

Waiting for the transmission to reach Imperial Centre, he forced himself to concentrate on the present moment, and knelt on the platform. Soon enough, a blue hologram in the form of his master's head appeared, twice his own size, but sunken so deeply in his hood that it was impossible to see any of his features but his eyes, two disturbingly shining spots. Vader bowed his head.

“What is thy bidding, my master?”

“Lord Vader,” the Emperor greeted him. His voice was slick and guttural. “I would hear about your search for the Rebel base.”

“The probes have been sent as you suggested it,” Vader replied. “I have just received the first data, and should have a satisfying result in a few days at the latest.”

“Good,” the Emperor nodded, “good.”

Vader waited, still kneeling, knowing this was but an accessory to his master's real reason for calling. Reports made their way to Imperial Centre easily enough. He had to have another motive, something more significant.

“There has been a disturbance in the Force,” the Emperor finally said. “Have you felt it?”

“No, my master,” Vader answered, frowning under his mask. He searched in the Force for the anomaly Sidious was talking about, but didn't find anything.

A thought rose up in a corner of his head, but he repressed as soon as he could, not wanting the Emperor to become aware of it. Could it be that the boy was at the origin of it, that the ripples of his violent emotions had spread throughout the galaxy? Or his own feelings maybe? He had been too caught up in the moment to pay attention to the impact of it.

“It is strange,” the Emperor whispered. “You felt nothing?”

“I was busy dealing with one of my new recruits,” Vader answered. “It is possible I have not noticed it.”

“A new recruit,” Sidious echoed. “Young Luke Lars?”

Vader was startled. The Emperor usually didn't pay much attention to the movements of men under his command, never mind knowing the names of the new squadron members. This was highly unusual. Was it a test? Was the Emperor the one who had sent Lars to Black Squadron, did he expect him to discover something about the boy?

“Yes, he is the one,” he replied, trying to let none of his surprise show.

A smile was sketched under the hood.

“Yes...” the Emperor said. “A remarkable individual. I believe he is under watch by ISB, who brought him to my attention.”

“The Security Bureau put him on file?” Vader asked, more and more puzzled. He was unaware they had people capable of detecting Force-sensitives, except for the thorough screening Imperial legislations put newborns through. “Why?”

“They believe he may have ties with the Rebellion. He was flagged at the Academy for his associations and has been under surveillance ever since. If he is in league with the Rebels, he could lead us to them.”

That made sense. It was usual procedure for suspected Rebel spies or sympathisers to be followed in order to try and gain information on the insurgents. It was very efficient, and sometimes provided information even if the subject was not himself an active participant. Less usual, however, was posting such suspect people directly to the elite forces of the Empire.

“You wish for me to keep an eye on him?” Vader asked. “Is that why he was stationed to my personal fighter squadron?”

“Oh, no, he went through the regular process,” the Emperor replied. “I understand he showed considerable talent during his training. But I would like you to watch him, nonetheless. Report anything unusual about him to me.”

For a moment, Vader hesitated to tell his master about the boy's power. It could very well be that the Emperor was already aware of it, and purposefully omitted mentioning it, in order to see if Vader would bring it to his attention. In that case, saying nothing would awaken his suspicion.... But on another hand, he wasn't sure he wanted Sidious to know of the boy, lest he disapprove of his projects for him.

At the same time, these projects were but vague and uncertain yet, and Vader found he desperately needed guidance. It was hard admitting it, but he was at a loss as to how to deal with the infuriating pilot, and would gladly take any piece of advice Sidious could give him. His master's orders, or even just suggestions, would simplify the dilemma he found himself faced with in regards to the young man: kill him, like he knew he probably should? Or let him live and turn him as had just occurred to him, obeying the strange reluctance to strike him down that had stayed his hand before, and that seemed whispered by the Force itself?

“I believe him to be Force-sensitive,” he settled on saying, offering part of the truth to probe his reaction.

Immediately Palpatine's interest sparked.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, my master.”

“Is he strong?”

Again, Vader paused, stifling his first instinct of complete and utter honesty. Confessing to the extent of the boy's power would put into question why he hadn't killed him yet, what he planned to do with him. Treachery was the way of the Sith; and yet what a powerful ally he would make... it couldn't fail to appeal to his master.

“I think so, although I have not been able to assess his whole potential yet.”

“You wish to train him.”

It was more a statement than a question; no inflexion in the Emperor's voice betrayed any inclination towards the project, be them positive or negative. Vader didn't let himself be intimidated.

“If he shows promise. He could be of use to us.”

A beat, a silence. Vader couldn't see Sidious' face clearly under the hood, but he knew without a doubt he was thinking about the proposition.

“He could be a great asset indeed,” he finally said. “Do as you wish.”

He then cut the transmission, leaving Vader somewhat surprised at how smoothly it went.

*******

The journey back to the squadron quarters was a torture for Luke. His legs felt so unsteady he had to use all his concentration to walk, his chest hurt so much he felt every beat of his heart like a stab wound, and his throat was on fire, despite how many times he cleared it to make it ache a bit less – or maybe because of it, but he couldn't help doing it anyway. He hoped there wouldn't be anybody in the squadron quarters... the mere idea of speaking left him queasy and nauseous, his head feeling as though it could explode at any moment.

Finally, he reached the familiar surroundings, which were desert, to his great relief. He helped himself a glass of water and added some ice, hoping it could alleviate the pain. But swallowing was worse, and he grimaced as the cool liquid went down his throat. Still feeling pretty weak, he made his way to the couches and collapsed there. He sat for a while with his eyes closed, his head tilted back and his mouth half open, a painful throbbing in his skull. He had never felt this terrible in his whole life...

The rumour of noise in the hallway made him look up, and for a moment he thought of retiring to his bunk in order to avoid speaking. Before he could act on it, however, a few people entered the room. It was Mauler, together with Dark Curse and the new people, who probably all came back from some sort of sim training. Luke would have groaned had he not felt like it would rip his larynx apart: this was hardly the ideal circumstance for a first – or rather second, but he guessed the moment in the hangars didn't count – meeting.

He waved with a half-hearted smile as they greeted him and came to join him, hoping they would be taken in their conversation and wouldn't ask him to participate. Unfortunately, Mauler took it upon himself to introduce him, which made sure the attentions were all set on him.

“This is Luke Lars, our FNG,” he said, and all five new pilots shook his hand one after the other.

“Nice to meet you,” one of them said – the one with the crooked nose, whose name Luke had forgotten. “Although we already saw each other this morning, right? You're the deck officer.”

Luke nodded, his lips still stretched in the semblance of a smile.

“You usually aren't so quiet,” Dark Curse noticed, before starting to observe Luke from a bit closer. “Are you all right?”

Again, Luke absently acquiesced, staring at his drink. He had a feeling he wasn't fooling anybody, but he really didn't feel up to explaining everything. By habit, he took his glass to his lips, but quickly regretted it.

“Come on, did you swallow your tongue?” the older man insisted.

“I just don't feel like speaking,” Luke finally uttered.

The words were just barely understandable in the squawking, rasping mess they became behind his vocal chords, before disappearing altogether in a coughing fit. He winced in pain, unable to repress a moan, and closed his eyes. He didn't want to see the startled looks he knew the other pilots were exchanging.

“I'll just go to bed,” he said, starting to get up before Mauler's hand on his arm stopped him.

“I don't want to cause you more pain than necessary, Lars, but I would very much like to understand what happened,” he said. “You have red marks on your neck.”

Luke sighed and sat down again, defeated.

“It's nothing,” he tried to play it down. “I... I tripped and fell down.”

“And strangled yourself?” Mauler said, eyebrows rising and doubt in his voice. The red light of his robotic eye scrutinising Luke made the young man ill at ease, feeling as though he could read right through him.

“Something caught my uniform and my collar strangled me,” he quickly said. He knew his tale didn't hold up, but he didn't care, nor did he want to budge from it. They didn't need to know the truth, they didn't need to tell him how lucky he was and how he shouldn't antagonise Lord Vader – all things he knew and really, really couldn't hear again. He didn't want their pity and commiserating glances. 

“I was unaware there were devices with such a capacity on the docks,” the man frowned.

A potent rush of irritation suddenly seized Luke, and he rose up. He was tired of being constantly interrogated, doubted, watched. Couldn't they leave him alone for once?

“I don't want to talk about it. I'm going to sleep,” he snapped.

He didn't look at any of them as he put his drink down on the table with a bit more strength that was necessary and headed towards the dorm, reminding himself to breathe deeply, despite the pain it caused him. His hands were slightly shaking, but they had no reason to be, he thought, angry at his own body. He was alive, his lungs were working, he was free of his movements, there was no looming shadow towering over him and thundering commands he was helpless to answer, he was _free_ , he was _safe_ , he was _alive_...

He was reaching the door when Mauler's voice rose up again.

“Take a painkiller in the first aid kit.”

Luke nodded and slipped out without a word.


	11. Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand it has been a month. Once again I'm very sorry for updating so scarcely... I fear it's not going to get better in the next months (although you never know), so I'll stop apologising at the start of every chapter. I promise this is going to see its end though, slowly but surely :) In the meantime, I hope you enjoy the chapter!

Despite the bacta pill he had swallowed to alleviate the pain, Luke slept awfully that night. He kept rolling over and over in his bunk, laying awake long after all of his squadmates had gone to bed, nervous thoughts and premises of nightmares startling him out of slumber each time he came close to dozing off. His forehead and ears felt too hot, the space around him too cramped, as if he still had trouble drawing air into his lungs, and his throat remained sore and itching even after the medicine had taken effect. He felt trapped, wishing for nothing more than to reach the depths of sleep at last, yet fearing the next day and what it would bring.

He jumped awake with a gasp and sat up as a particularly frightening picture played out in his troubled mind, holding back a cry at the last minute. It was nothing, he tried to convinced himself as he lowered his shaking hands he'd held up in defence, just a dream. The regular and slightly hissing sound was only one of the pilots' snoring, not Vader's breath on his neck.

Still, he couldn't help throwing uneasy looks around, half-expecting a black mask to surge from the dark, a leathered hand to rise and tighten around his throat. He shook his head, berating himself for this nonsense. His superior certainly had other things to do than to frighten him in the middle of the night.

He threw a glance at his holowatch on his beside table, grimacing when he saw the time. In less than an hour it would be time for him to get up. He would get no more sleep tonight.

He groaned as he forced himself to stand, finding his voice rough and croaky, but already much less painful to use than the night before. With a yawn, he made his way to the refresher, shivering from tiredness. He usually managed to forget how cold space was, but these hours of the morning were the moment he felt the low temperature of the ship most keenly.

After closing the door, he opened the tap of the sink, splashing water in his face to wake himself up. He'd taken up the habit at the Academy whenever he'd had a rough night, for sonic showers just weren't as effective as real, cool water to wash away weariness. It didn't mean the sensation was particularly enjoyable, though, and he grimaced through it. A bit more invigorated, he took a deep breath and seized a towel to dry himself, enjoying the feeling of the rough material against his face. By force of habit, his eyes darted towards the mirror, and he froze.

He was awfully pale and thin, his tired eyes ringed with dark circles, but these details hardly were what attracted his gaze. Both appalled and fascinated, he gingerly held up a hand and brushed the base of his throat. Coloured spots were sprayed across his neck where Vader had held him the day before, like nebulas of purple, blue and green blood under his skin. He touched them, numb, and surprised not to find them particularly sensitive. Curiously, it was the inside of his throat that itched him the most.

No longer able to look at it, he glanced down, taking support on the basin as he struggled to keep his breath steady through the rush of memories that assaulted him. Never in his life, not even in the battle of a few weeks before, had he felt so close to death as he had when his commanding officer had strangled him. Even more than the helplessness of being trapped against that wall, a hand of metal constricting his airways, he had been terrified by the intensity of the man's fury, the slow and steady increase of the pressure against his throat, the cold precision of his murderous intent. That had been no warning; he was certain of it. Vader had wanted to kill him, with a passion that still sent him reeling. He should be dead.

He closed his eyes and let out a shaky sigh. He _would_ be dead, had his commanding officer not been startled by something and let him go. Despite how much he had thought about it, he still had no idea what it had all been about. His memories of the moment were confused, but he remembered frantically being asked questions he had no answer to, then being rushed out of the room, dismissed as if he had just brought caf. It was incomprehensible, and Luke wished he knew what had happened. He felt lost, unable to understand his superior's frightening moods, not knowing even what prompted them. It was terrifying to know that next time he perhaps wouldn't be so lucky.

One thing was certain, though: if he wanted to survive, he had to escape Vader's scrutiny, one way or another. Leaving – or rather deserting – was absolutely out of the question. So was completing a request for a reassignment. These all went through Vader for approbation, and Luke had a sinking impression he wouldn't let him go so easily.

He ran a hand on his face. If only he knew why his commanding officer showed such an interest in him... He had discarded his first fear that he had been discovered as the son of a Jedi, for his superior no longer seemed to be interested in his ascendency. And yet all his questions still revolved around the Jedi, as well as the old hermit that had lived near Luke's homestead during his childhood. Why Vader was so obsessed with a long dead crazy wizard, Luke had no clue. But then, there were many things about the man he couldn't fathom anyway.

His only viable option, then, was to lie low and become the perfect soldier, never complaining, never giving Vader any opportunity to turn his irritation against him. It wasn't a stellar situation, because Luke unfortunately knew his own temper had a tendency to flare at the worst time whenever his superior was involved. There was something exhausting and exasperating with the way he constantly seemed to loom over his shoulder, and it never failed to put him on the defensive. He didn't trust himself to remain calm, even when his life depended on it.

But it wasn't like he had any other choice. He supposed it would be good for him, anyway, to learn some restraint... even though he would have preferred his life not to be on the line. 

His decision taken, he took his time to shower and put his uniform on. He pulled the collar as high as he could, but it unfortunately remained too low to cover the marks, and he had to give up. He hoped nobody would say anything about it.

He drank his caf leisurely, his early start meaning that he could afford this small comfort before discovering whatever boring duties Vader had seen fit to assign to him for the day. He had to wonder at what he would find out this time: up until here, he had been creative enough in putting Luke exactly in the places that would make him miss flying the most. But Luke would not complain. He wouldn't give Vader that satisfaction, or that occasion to notice him. From now on, he was but a nameless pawn in the huge Imperial machine and nothing more; certainly nothing worth the man's interest.

He was ten minutes early when he headed to the squadron meeting room and saluted Lt. Tanbris to receive his instructions. The man saluted him back then took his datapad to check out Luke's duties. After a second, his eyebrows rose up in surprise, then he looked up at the young man and gave him a light smile.

“Congratulations, Ensign Lars. Your assiduity must have impressed Lord Vader after all. You are reinstated on the squadron.”

Luke started, not daring believe his ears.

“What?”

“See for yourself,” Lt. Tanbris told him, showing him the datapad. “This must be one of the shortest and lightest punishments for an offence such as yours. You are to go back to your normal duties from now on.”

He frowned as if just thinking of something, and went to read the whole thing again.

“It is stated nowhere that you are to stop reporting to him in the evenings, however. Knowing the man, I doubt it was an oversight.”

The information settled with cold dread in the pit of Luke's stomach, but not enough to overcome his wonder and euphoria. He was coming back to the squadron... he would be flying again... It felt like a deliverance, like a weight had been taken off his shoulders, and had Tanbris not been watching him, he would have begun to laugh and shout right then and there.

“Thank you, sir! I promise I'll do better this time,” he was unable to repress a huge grin.

For once his outburst didn't earn him any disapproving glance; instead Lt. Tanbris smiled back.

“It is not I who should be receiving either thanks or promises,” he answered. “Go now. I believe there is a squadron meeting planned in room 113-8 in about fifteen minutes. Operation planning, if I remember well.“

Luke's smile widened. Not only was he back on the squadron, but he would also see action soon, get the chance to prove himself, to demonstrate that his false start was nothing but that, an unfortunate accident that he didn't intend on repeating. Things couldn't have been better, and he was determined to seize the opportunity that presented itself to him.

He thanked Lt. Tanbris once more, saluted him, then left, heading to the meeting room that had been designated to him. He was the first one there, and took a seat not too close to the place where the speaker would be, but not too far either. He tried not to fidget, despite being alone in the room. A thrill of excitement was running through him, of nervousness too, as if this was the first time he would be attending such a meeting, or as if he was coming home after a very long time away.

He hadn't realised how much he'd missed this.

He only had to wait for a short time before his squadmates entered and joined him on the chairs around him. Dark Curse and the new guy with the greying hair were the first to arrive.

“Hey,” he casually greeted them, suddenly feeling quite uncomfortable as he remembered the encounter of the night before.

“Hi, FNG,” Dark Curse answered. “How are you feeling? You already look a little better than yesterday.”

Luke stiffened, but forced himself to relax and shrugged. 

“I'm fine,” he said, then turned to the new recruit, eager to change the subject. “I'm sorry, I didn't have the occasion to catch your name.”

It was but half a lie. Luke vaguely remembered having to sign the orders of a certain Starfallen, but he was no longer certain he didn't confuse him with someone else. Besides, pilots usually preferred to be known by their call sign, and Luke had no idea what his was.

“Just call me Silver,” the man said, like Luke had expected.

“So I guess this means you're back on flying duty?” Dark Curse asked Luke.

“Yeah,” Luke replied, noticing the other pilots entering the room from the corner of his eye. “I'm finally done with the grounding –”

He cut off his sentence in a great cry of surprise and protest as a big clap in the back sent him forward, nearly sprayed on the table. In the middle of the laughter that had risen up from the assembly, Luke shot a mock glare at Chaser, who was now walking around the table to sit across them, together with two new pilots. As usual, he was smirking.

“That's not how you say 'hello' or 'welcome back', you brainless thug,” Luke said.

Before Chaser could retort, his neighbour let out a thundering laugh. 

“Well done, kiddo, that's how he should be spoken to,” the man said. Luke was surprised how strong and deep his voice was, considering he wasn't particularly tall or broad-shouldered. “You sound better than yesterday, in any case. I'm Boomer, and this one here's Cosmo.”

Luke threw a glance at Cosmo, a lean man with high, thin eyebrows that gave him a distracted look. Cosmo tilted his head and smiled back. Chaser groaned. 

“Man, if it's gonna be like this, I think I preferred it when you were gone. I liked the quiet.” He suddenly frowned, and Luke's smile froze on his face upon realising where he was looking. “Hey, what happened to your neck?”

Luke shrugged, but couldn't help rubbing his throat absently, half by reflex and half to conceal the marks. “Long story.”

He looked back at the door, where the rest of the squadron was slowly coming to join them. Vil came to sit next to them, followed by Qorl and the last new guys, then Mauler who sat in the back of the room. Luke frowned. Mauler was usually the one who directed this kind of meetings; if he wasn't the one speaking, then who could it –

Everybody went silent, and Luke's blood rushed from his face, a cold chill running down his spine when the tell-tale mechanical breath reached his ears. Vader walked past them all, his cape flowing against the legs of the chairs, and came to stand at the end of the table. He took a few seconds to survey his audience, his head turning to each of them in turn, and Luke looked away when he crossed his gaze, unable to sustain it. Then he began to talk.

“The hiding place of the Rebels who gave assistance to the concealed base on Carosi XII has finally been uncovered,” he said. “We are currently studying the opportunity and the best strategy for an assault. This outpost is believed to be much better defended, with a whole arsenal of ships and soldiers.”

He stopped for a second, surveying his audience.

“For long, Black Squadron has been but a shadow of itself, decimated by losses to the point of being reduced to half its numbers. For long, countless profiles of pilots have been examined, scrutinized to find the best among the Imperial Navy to replenish your ranks. You are the elite, gentlemen; and the elite is not easily replaced. But today this squadron is complete once again, on the brink of rising to its former glory.”

“I will not lie to you. The next weeks will be immensely trying. You will need to train, to adapt, to exceed former requirements to be moulded into this new body of work. Peace will not be achieved without sweat or blood. What is expected – what is _needed_ of you is nothing less than to be the quickest, cleverest, strongest, and most competent fighters of this Empire.”

A thrill of eager excitement went through Luke at his words. He wondered if his squad mates were feeling it too, this desire to prove themselves, this anticipation to perform as well as they could. Vader was not only good on a battlefield: he also had an orator's skill to motivate his troops.

He listened as attentively as he could as the man began outlining the training plan, the competences they would need to achieve, as well as the first data on the Rebels they expected to encounter in battle. He talked for a long time, but Luke never let himself get distracted for fear that he would notice it. Then Vader stepped back, and stayed to the side as Mauler took his place to speak of other, more technical details.

All along, Luke couldn't help but throw wary glances at Vader. It was completely irrational, but he worried that his superior would extent his hand and finish what he started the day before. He forced himself to take deep breaths and to remain focused on the explanations that were given.

Finally, the instructions were wrapped up, and they were freed from the room. Luke inhaled deeply, feeling muscles relax that he hadn't even realised were tense.

They headed to the sims, where they had been separated in two groups for an exercise. Luke was in the first group, together with Boomer, Chaser, Cosmo and Dark Curse, as well as Mauler, who would be directing the whole thing. It was a strange sensation to slip in the cockpit once again, both foreign and incredibly familiar: Luke didn't think he'd gone that long without exercising ever since he'd started his training. He closed his hands around the controls, inhaling and exhaling slowly, fighting to repress a smile.

This was his chance to do better.

Then the program launched, and he was soaring in space once again, twirling and twisting like he'd done so often before. He tried to repress a wild laugh in a particularly close turn, keeping track of his squad mates even while he avoided and shot down the enemy ships. It felt easy and natural, the movements he'd learnt at the Academy coming back to him as if he was just walking.

After a moment, however, he began paying extra attention to the instructions they had been given, sharpening his mind to what the others were doing and adapting to them. He may have been out of practice, but the energy and motivation he experienced more than compensated for the fact. He was determined not to make the same mistakes that had cost him his place in the squadron at first. 

A few minutes passed like this when he began to find some sort of a routine. He felt as if he was both taking distance and incredibly close to the action, as if he was falling asleep and more awake than ever at the same time; he knew what the enemy would do before they moved, could practically feel them, guided by a powerful instinct telling him what to do before his brain even got there –

No. He voluntarily snapped out of it, narrowly dodging a Rebel coming right on him in his distraction. His heart was beating faster. He recognised the sensation: it was the same kind of feeling that had prevented him from firing when Vader had ordered him to back above Carosi XII, the same kind of feeling that had brought him so much trouble in the first place. He was determined not to let it rule him once again, lest it destroy his career – or his life, even – forever this time.

But it was hard to keep at top performance and not fall into that secondary state, which he now realised he had relied on a lot every time he'd been in flight up until now. He didn't think he managed to get completely rid of it, either; whenever he found himself in a particularly tight spot, he found himself falling back on that intuition despite himself, like it was a secret knowledge that was helping him not to get shot down.

It was quite uncomfortable to fly like this, but Luke somehow managed to find some fun in the heightened difficulty. He did not get killed until the exercise was completed, and his team had achieved an honourable score. Staring at the end screen, he ran a hand in his short hair, catching his breath before he stepped out of the simulator.

The others were already all gathered around the debrief table, waiting for Mauler, who was still gathering the results from the program, to come and review the proceedings.

“That was some warm-up,” Boomer said. “I don't think I've ever sweated so much in a mere simulator.”

“That's how it works here,” Dark Curse replied. “Mauler likes to set the machines on a very high level of difficulty. The goal is to make real battles look like a peaceful patrol shift by comparison.”

Boomer snorted.

“Worst is, I can definitely imagine it works.”

For absolutely no reason, the comment cracked Luke up, who started laughing even harder in front of his squad mates' surprised looks. It'd been a long time since he'd felt such light-heartedness, such normalcy and sense of belonging. He finally managed to get a grip on himself just as Mauler joined them, still grinning like a madman.

“It's good to be back,” he breathed out as only explanation.

*******

The rest of the day was spent exercising in the sims, debriefing the sessions, and studying battle tactics that may be useful. They were all pretty whacked when Mauler finally let them go, but Luke who hadn't flown in weeks was probably the worst of them all. Still, it was so good to end the day exhausted, knowing he'd sleep well that night, instead of the restless slumber that had constantly accompanied him during his grounding.

He just wished his squad mates would cut him some slack.

“... and then he looks him right in the face and says, 'I was not aware of any regulations regarding the time it took'!” Luke took another sip of his drink, trying to tune out the voice of one of the new pilots, Torpedo, telling of one certain mess that had happened just the day before, and hoping that if he hid his face far enough behind his glass it would lose some of its redder quality. Incredulous laughter punctuated the light-hearted story, whose finer details Luke had already half forgotten – and had hoped never to remember. So much for that. “Vader went completely still. It was as if he'd even stopped breathing. I thought that boy would drop dead then and there!”

Chaser whistled, tilting his head towards him and raising his glass.

“Every time I think you can't do anything crazier, you go and prove me wrong,” he said. “I don't know if I should respect you or yell at you until you find yourself a sense of self-preservation.”

“Both,” Cosmo intervened.

“Why, where would be the fun in that? I like to live dangerously,” Luke replied, still rather embarrassed, but feeling pride begin to grow in him against all reason at their dumbfounded glances.

The words and the story brought back a detail that the excitement of the day had erased, however, and the memory hit him like a wave of cold water, dousing all his amusement.

“Talking about that, I actually still have an appointment with our Lord and squadron leader,” he said, trying to keep it light. “I still have to meet him every evening. It's a wonder he hasn't had enough of me yet.”

He downed the rest of his glass and swiftly set it down on the table. His hands weren't shaking, he told himself, taking comfort in the soft warmth that was spreading from his stomach.

“You going to be all right?” Chaser asked.

Luke shrugged with a smile, not wishing for him nor any of the others to see how disquieted he felt.

“Of course,” he said. “Why wouldn't I be?”

Chaser shot him a doubtful look, but didn't answer. Luke had to restrain his urge to rise his hand and rub the bruises on his throat. He would be all right. He mock saluted all the pilots, then went out of the room.

Only once he was in front of Vader's door did fear strike Luke with full power, so much he nearly turned on his heels and left. He couldn't do this. He couldn't step into this room again, not after what had happened yesterday. Who knew what mood Vader was in? Who knew what he would decide to do to him? His throat itched, he had difficulty to breathe, and he didn't want to die.

He gritted his teeth as the last thought entered his mind. If he didn't want to die, he shouldn't have applied to the Navy in the first place, right? Where was his boldness and his recklessness gone right now? This cowering little boy he was turning into wasn't like him at all. Granted, his commanding officer was terrifying, but he had to admit he wasn't completely blameless either in what had happened to him. He would be respectful, he wouldn't speak up when he wasn't supposed to, and then he would take whatever happened head on, like he'd always done.

Mustering a confidence he only half felt, he walked up to Vader's door and activated the comm. Soon the panel whooshed open; his heart hammering against his ribs, Luke stepped in and came to stand at attention in the middle of the room. He had done the very same movement many times in the last weeks, but it somehow felt different today: he was aware of every move his body performed, every gesture he made to arrive there, every rush of blood in his veins. He forced himself to take deep breaths, noticing how eerily in sync with Vader's own they were being as he waited to be acknowledged.

“Ensign Lars. I hope you have reacquainted yourself well with your squadron?” Vader addressed him. Luke observed him from the corner of his eye. There was no special inflexion in his voice, nor any hint in his body language that may have revealed what emotion he was feeling.

“Yes, my lord.” Luke hesitated, then decided his next words were probably neutral enough not to irritate the man. “Thank you for giving me a second chance. I promise I will not waste it.”

Vader inclined his head in acknowledgement.

“Good. I am pleased to see you in this disposition. I hope you have learnt from your mistakes, and will perform better from now on.”

Luke nodded, fighting not to show his surprise. Vader complimenting him? He didn't think that had ever happened before.

“Yes, my lord.”

“Very well.” Vader moved, and Luke violently flinched; but he only crossed his arms in front of his chest, leaving the young man to berate himself for his baseless fear. “I have watched your practice today, and I noticed that your flying style had been somewhat altered since the last time you flew. You seem to be less accurate, slower in your reactions. Do you see any reason for this change?”

Luke swallowed. Reproaches and uncomfortable inquiries again, now this was charted territory... He did his best to silence the unhelpful little voice at the back of his mind.

“I have been out of practice, sir,” he tentatively answered. “But I am doing my best to –“

“No.” Vader interrupted. “That is not what I am talking about.”

There was an uneasy silence, one Luke had to fight not to break by asking for precisions. Once again the cold tendrils that only seemed to manifest when he was around Vader poked at his limbs, teasing him, demanding a reaction out of him. It hovered playfully around his neck, and it took all his willpower not to rise his hands and massage it convulsively.

“You have told me about a strange feeling of yours happening during the battle and preventing you from firing,” Vader went on. “But that was not the first time you experienced it, was it?”

Luke stayed quiet, his mouth dry. What was he getting at?

“Every time you take flight, it is there, supporting you, accompanying you. It makes you quicker and stronger, tells you things you should not be able to know.”

“My lord...?”

Luke interrupted himself before he could say anything else, deeply disconcerted by these words, and the accuracy with which they were describing his impression when he was in space. How did Vader know any of this? How could he put into words what himself barely understood? A mad idea took shape into his mind. Did Vader feel these things, too? Although it made no sense, it seemed the cold tendrils around him were humming in agreement.

Vader made a pause, closely watching Luke, who still had no idea what was happening. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet, deliberately slow.

“Have you ever heard of the Force, young Lars?”

Luke frowned.

“No, my lord,” he answered.

“As I expected. Few know of its existence; even fewer have access to it. You are one of these privileged ones. It is the Force that gives you your inhuman instincts and piloting skills. It is constantly with you, guiding you in ways you are not even conscious of. It surrounds and binds all life together, almighty and all-encompassing, holding power beyond your imagination.”

He came closer to him, and Luke couldn't help taking a step back; but Vader hardly seemed to notice it.

“I can teach you to harness this power. I can help you master this gift you have been granted and achieve your full potential.”

Luke swallowed, feeling trapped, fear rising in his stomach more and more strongly. He retreated again, trying to gain distance from Vader; but he could still feel the cold curls swirling around him, closer and closer, leaving him no escape.

“I – I don't understand.”

“I am offering you a chance to be great,” Vader went on. “A chance to do better, to show the world what you are really worth. The Force is a part of you that you cannot deny. Let me train you, and I will make you unstoppable!”

Hardly daring to move or even to breathe, Luke stared at him. He was mad. There was no other explanation to this feverish rambling, the passion in his voice, the urge of his movements. His words made no sense at all, these promises were filled with wind, so different from the precision with which he tackled his commanding functions it was incredibly scary. In this moment he looked twice as tall as usual, like a fire that couldn't be put off, and Luke had no clue how to react.

And yet... and yet something in what he said strangely resonated within him, like they awakened something that had lied dormant during most of his life. The way he had described the feelings he experienced in flight was incredibly right, as if he had been in Luke's mind when he was in his fighter, and hearing him talk about this mysterious Force evoked something deep and strong inside him. All his life Luke had felt there was something more to the world than their small lives on Tatooine, some greater understanding of the universe...

He shivered, overwhelmed, unable to make sense of any of it. Why was Vader talking to him like this, when just yesterday he had wanted him dead? What did he want? Suddenly Luke remembered his superior shaking him for answers the day before. _Who trained you?_ he had asked. Was that what he had meant, was this a new ploy to make him admit to some sort of forbidden teaching? 

Everything in him was screaming to refuse Vader's offer. And yet he knew that would be exposing himself to the man's wrath. He'd already annoyed him so much... one more antagonistic move could very well be the thing that sent him flying off the handle and made him decide Luke wasn't worth living after all. 

But what was the alternative? Accepting whatever it was he was talking about, without understanding a thing about what he would be learning? Putting himself in this dangerous position without knowing what it entailed at all, and giving Vader even more power over him? The mere idea made him queasy. This was something he couldn't do, whatever the consequences of his refusal may be.

No, there was but one possible answer, even though he knew his superior wouldn't take it well.

“Thank you, my lord,” he whispered, “but with all due respect, I'd much rather stay a pilot.”

He closed his eyes, waiting for the storm to crash upon him; but to his surprise, nothing happened, except for the deafening silence that fell upon the room.

“I see.”

Curious, Luke risked a glance towards Vader. He didn't seem particularly mad, just... thinking. The young man had no idea what could be going on in his head.

“If you ever change your mind, know that my offer still stands. I will let you think about it. You may go.”

And just like that, Luke was dismissed. He wished for nothing more than to run out of here, but didn't dare do so, too unsettled by his superior's changing moods. He wavered a bit more before taking a decision.

“My lord?” he inquired tentatively.

“Yes?”

“I... just meant to ask if I was still required to report to you in the evenings from now on. There was nothing addressing that in the orders sheet...”

He trailed off, and Vader looked at him for a long moment. He did his best to sustain his gaze. Finally, something seemed to change in his body posture, as if he'd just uttered a sigh, although his breath didn't seem changed in the slightest.

“No,” he said. “You may resume a completely normal schedule.”

Luke nodded, his thanks dying on his lips. He saluted somewhat clumsily, then hurried out of the room.

He walked back to his quarters giddy with relief at the knowledge that he would no longer have to come back. He was free... he was safe... he was alive... A disbelieving laugh escaped him, as he realised he hadn't expected to live through this meeting. The recycled air of the ship's corridor had never been so delicious.

But even despite his joy, a corner of his mind kept musing over the encounter, strangely troubled by his commanding officer's thoughtful and quiet mood.


	12. Awakening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it took forever again, and it's still a bit rough, but I really wanted to post it today. Hope you enjoy it! :)

Darth Vader was standing in the simulators' room, his arms crossed and head slightly tilted forward. Everything was silent but for the quiet sizzling of electricity feeding the machines. He kept his eyes on the moving dots on the 3D screen, absent-mindedly analysing the progress of the exercise. This attack was of tremendous importance, for Vader hoped to wipe out Rebel activity in the sector with it, and finally find out whether or not they knew about the Empire's secret project. In the middle of logistics and strategy planning, he had decided to take some time to oversee the squadron's training, perhaps even to run an exercise or two himself. 

He immersed himself in the Force, feeling the different presences flaring around him. In space, they were all but immobile; and yet he could perceive the movement of their minds, their connections to one another giving him an idea of how the simulation was running and completing the image given by the monitor.

One of those minds, of course, was much stronger than the rest, burning brighter and more intensely than all the others. The more time passed, the more Vader wondered how he had missed such an overwhelming Force presence. By all rights, he should have spotted him immediately... or was it because he was paying attention to him that he could feel him so clearly? He wasn't certain. All the Jedi he had hunted had been trained; even the Padawans had had the barest minimum of knowledge about the Force. Untrained Sensitives were much harder to find, because their connection to the Force was still dampened, temporary, mostly instinctual. It was the first time he encountered someone who was naturally so strong.

And yet the boy was voluntarily smothering his presence and keeping his distance from the Force, afraid of his own power.

Vader closed his eyes, recalling the last encounter he had had with him, a dozen of days ago, and finding himself still confused. He had not expected him to refuse his proposition. It had taken him completely by surprise, and he was still angry with himself for that. He had offered the boy the whole universe, an unimaginable well of strength and knowledge. How could it have occurred to him he would decline it, and turn away from what the entire galaxy must have been screaming at him was his rightful place?

Yet that was what he had done, and Vader couldn't grasp his own feelings in regard to that. The more time passed, the clearer it became how exceptional an ability to unsettle him Lars possessed. It was extremely frustrating and strangely refreshing at the same time, and no matter how much Vader wanted him gone from his life with all the complications he brought, he was starting to understand that he simply couldn't bring himself to expel him from it, taken in by whatever it was that had attracted his attention to him.

But there was more to it... more than just anger and surprise, whenever he thought of his rejection. He hadn't lashed out at him when he had expressed his refusal. He hadn't even insisted, tried to make him understand what a momentous mistake he was making. No, he had been too taken aback by the sense of emptiness that had struck him at that moment... of disappointment, even.

He couldn't explain it. Why should he care whether one small and insignificant pilot felt appropriate to deny the gift and the legacy he was offering him? He had held out his hand to him, and the boy hadn't taken it. That was his loss.

Besides, the game was not over yet. With Lars on the squadron, under his command, he would still have many occasions to win him over. It had dawned on him that he may have come off a bit too strongly in his attempt to sway him, and that his impatience may well have scared him away. With the distance, he realised now how terrified the boy had seemed. He should have waited some more time before making his offer, given him space to breathe, introduced him to the idea little by little, not unlike his own master had done to acquaint him with the dark side of the Force, when he had been but a brainwashed and narrow-minded young Jedi. Dumping it all on his head less than a day after nearly killing him had been a mistake, one he wouldn't make again. He would have him, no matter how long it took.

Still, it remained that the young man's refusal had hit him far too personally than he cared for.

He could always order him into his teachings, he considered, annoyed. The hierarchy of the Navy meant that Lars was forced to obey him, whether he wanted it or not. That would be the easiest way to gain his allegiance, and a sure path to precipitate him right into the clutches of the dark side. The helplessness of that situation would be sure to awaken anger and fear in him, especially with the temper he already showed...

However, it would only offer him a reluctant, recalcitrant apprentice, bound to drag his feet and resist him in everything, and Vader didn't want to antagonise him by brutalising him into training. Treachery was after all the way of the Sith, and making an enemy out of someone with such potential was the most stupid thing he could do. Better to let him taste his dormant power and trap him within it, wishing for more, just like himself had been. Patience had never been his forte, but he would make an effort for this.

His attention was drawn once more to the bright presence in the Force, flaring irregularly, as though it was being restrained. It should be overwhelming, sending out shining and burning waves through the very fabric of the universe, he reflected, if only he achieved his whole potential. How he ached to free this searing star and unleash it on the world, to mould it and have it for himself, at his side...

Irritated by his own weakness, he turned towards his wingman, who was focusing on the exercise as well. Brann Mithel, known as Mauler by his squad, had served for more than ten years as his second-in-command, and in all that time Vader had never found his professionalism or competency wanting. Vader knew that he could rely on him to provide him with objective and insightful information. If he wanted to know how to gain the boy's trust, he first had to learn more about him.

“Commander Mithel,” he intoned quietly. “What do you think of young Lars?”

Mauler frowned as he thought about his answer.

“I think him to be a good element, my lord,” he said. “He still has problems with coordination, but those are not consequent enough that they should impede the squadron's working, and with discipline at times, which could prove more problematic, as you already noticed. However, he is hard-working and seems determined to improve his weaknesses. In time he could become an outstanding pilot.”

Vader remained motionless, in agreement. It was in accordance to what he had already noticed. But it wasn't enough. He wanted to know his desires and ambitions, something he could use to lead him to accept his training.

“If I may ask, sir,” Mauler intervened, “why do you have such an interest in him?”

Under his mask, Vader made a small smile. Few of his men dared question him so directly, if at all: they feared him too much to dare interact with him. Mauler's bold but respectful honesty, while at times annoying, was one of the qualities Vader respected most in him.

“He has exceptional skills,” he replied. “I have... plans involving him. He could be much more than just a pilot.”

Mauler nodded, but didn't ask him further about the plans in question.

“To convince him so will be hard work. He has expressed more than once a genuine love for flying. He's as crazy about it as the rest of us.”

Vader didn't answer, thinking. Now that was interesting information... the boy enjoyed flying, and wished to get better at it. He could certainly relate to that, he mused, thinking of the numerous times he had been in a craft himself, be it a podracer, a Jedi starfighter or a TIE.

As he considered the subdued presence that kept teasing him with its latent power, an idea started to germ in his mind. Lars couldn't continue like this: distracted as he was by the effort needed to keep his abilities at bay, he would make a mistake, sooner or later. The situation had to be unblocked.

He ordered Mauler to check some meaningless detail about the program and check the general progress of the squadron, then took the comm linked to the simulators, designed to let the trainers coach the trainees in any way they wanted. He set it to individual mode and brought it up, staring at the monitor and concentrating on Lars' Force presence. The boy was currently grappling with two X-Wings, trying to escape one of them long enough to destroy the second.

“Good, Five,” Vader praised him as he narrowly managed to evade one of his opponents. “Now relax. Open your mind, and let your feelings guide you.”

Lars started, surprised by the sound of his voice. Vader could feel his reluctance to obey, to surrender to the power he had had so much trouble tuning out in the first place. Slightly annoyed, he thought for an instant about repeating it, clarifying that it was an order he was expected to follow; but he refrained himself, considering that blunt force probably wouldn't help him much if he wanted to gain his trust. The boy was afraid: clearly he hadn't expected him to address him in the middle of the exercise.

“You have no reason to fear. Stop ignoring your instincts,” he insisted. “They will help you, not hinder you. Let go of your reservations, let yourself be guided by the Force seeking to lead you.”

Slowly, Lars' resistance disappeared, and he could feel it melt into acceptance, as he put his advice into practice. Immediately his mark in the Force expanded, finally freed from the leash he kept on it; it pulsed brilliantly, swarming with strength and with life, blinding.

“Yes...” Vader whispered, triumphant joy filling him as he saw the small craft's movements on the digital map become swifter and more precise; whether it was his or the boy's emotions, he couldn't tell. “That is it. Feel it. Broaden your consciousness, let these sensations flow in you unimpeded.”

Guided by his voice, Lars' presence grew again, sending out rays to try and detect what was happening around him. His fighter was twirling with ease, no longer a mere vessel but a part of himself. He was avoiding his enemies as easily as he breathed now, playful.

“You are in command. Your foes are no match for you, you can feel them, know what they will do. Take aim and trust it to reach its target.”

In a perfectly controlled loop, Lars sent two shots at the X-Wings; both of them were destroyed. His connection with the Force was growing deeper as he was becoming more familiar with it, experimenting with it, trying to see what he could do. Exhilarated, Vader admired him for a moment, in awe at how natural it seemed for him to accustom himself to his power and explore it to fly. 

For a moment, he wondered what he would be capable of, once fully trained. His abilities seemed endless... 

“Now return in formation. Feel the pattern made out by your allies, anticipate their movements and their needs. You are weaving a web together, to trap your enemies and destroy them.”

Again the boy obeyed, instinctively knowing where he had to be, taking his place and helping out where he could. The others, trained for a very long time at this, welcomed him in their midst, and he adapted as well as he was able to. Together they were able to destroy a honourable amount of enemy crafts, before the exercise finally stopped. It hadn't lasted longer than ten minutes.

As always, there was a moment of silence as the pilots dealt with the disorientation that the end of the simulation caused; then, one by one, they came out of the devices.

Lars was the last one to exit his cockpit. As he came back to reality, his presence gradually returned to its normal size, but a part of his connection remained, burning like a pillar of flames in his core. His movements, although clumsy and disoriented, looked more graceful than usual, and his gaze seemed sharper and clearer, taking in his environment as though he had never really seen it before. Once again, Vader wondered how this boy could be so strong, and never have been noticed.

While he took his place among the others around the holo console, Lars' eyes briefly crossed Vader's. Fleeting emotions crossed his face, awe, excitement and uncertainty flickering on his features, overcoming his fear of his commanding officer for the shortest moment. As only answer, the Sith Lord tilted his head to acknowledge his success and express his own satisfaction, unable to subdue the trepidation roaring in his chest.

_At my side you will be the greatest._

Shoving away the bothersome thought, he turned the hologram on, and began the debriefing.

*******

Luke blinked, trying once again to concentrate. He could catch a word or another of what his squadmates said, could focus on a sentence at a time, but the general substance of the meeting completely escaped him.

He threw a quick look at Vader, hoping against all hope that he couldn't see his distraction. His commanding officer's attention seemed entirely directed on what was being told, but Luke was certain he was keeping watch on him: he could nearly feel the burning of two intent eyes boring inside him, as he inclined his head towards him. How he knew, he still had no clue; but it was a certainty.

He took a deep breath, trying to shake the memories of the simulation. He had never experienced anything like this before. In the high stress of the fighting, increased even more by Vader's voice coming out of nowhere to give him instructions, he'd had no choice but to obey him, and the results had been astonishing. The first few seconds had been familiar as he let himself be washed over by old instincts; but when, pushed by Vader's voice, he had sunk even deeper into that strange state, relinquished even more control over his craft, even as it seemed he kept gaining power over his situation. He had felt the other fighters as if they'd really been there for him to touch. It had been like entering an entirely new world, like looking at a second universe that laid itself upon the real one in transparency, like the cosmic humming of life had exploded to a fully-blown song to make his whole body vibrate in harmony, such a foreign and unusual sensation he had trouble knowing what to make of it.

His thoughts turned to Vader again, but he didn't dare look at him. How had he known? Was this how he flew, did he feel all these things, too? Was this the mysterious Force he'd been talking about the last time?

He exhaled slowly, still overwhelmed by the experience, lifting his hand to the base of his throat to rub the skin just above his collarbone. He had tried his best to lay low during the last few days, but until here, it hadn't seemed to deflate Vader's strange interest in him. Luke hadn't expected him to go out of his way just to give him flying advice... He shivered. For a fleeting moment, he felt like a mouse taken in a trap, still alive and unaware of its fate, but knowing it wouldn't escape the predator that had captured it.

Something was telling him that no amount of good behaviour would help him get away from his superior officer's attention now. That thought was far more terrifying than it ought to be.

Still, for all that the previous few minutes had been unsettling, the sensation hadn't been unpleasant, he realised with some surprise. It had felt... natural. As if this was something that had been buried deep inside him, and had only now found the opportunity to get out. He wondered if he could summon it again, the next time he was in the air, for real this time...

Finally Vader called for the end of the meeting, and walked out of the room without addressing him again, to Luke's great relief. He looked around and came closer to his squadmates ad they all exited the room, heading to a regular meeting room for a talk about tactics. Their next attack was planned for soon: they didn't know how soon yet, and that was precisely what they were about to learn, as well as the necessary other details.

Luke fell into step with Chaser, Boomer and Cosmo, who were talking about squadron formations, their strengths and weaknesses. He mostly listened, only chiming in from time to time to debate a particular point or the other. He was slowly feeling more like himself, although there was still a particularly acute awareness of his surroundings in the back of his mind.

They all came in the room and took a seat around the table, soon joined by Mauler, who was assisted by Lt. Tanbris. Vader was absent, Luke noticed thankfully; he probably had returned to whatever of his duties as the commander of the ship.

Mauler pushed a button on the command console. The device at the centre of the table activated with a bleeping sound, and a round hologram depicting a planet appeared in front of them.

“This is Praadost II, the site of the Rebel base that supported Carosi during our attack and surprised us with the results we know,” Mauler started. “Jungle planet, covered mostly in trees and rainforest plants. Not the ideal site for an air strike. The base is hidden deep in the woods and thought to be sensibly more important and well defended than the Carosi outpost we flew against the last time.”

He activated another order on the console, and the map grew bigger, closing in on a particular part of the planet. Among the trees, a red square was traced to indicate the placement of the base.

“In view of the circumstances, space forces will only be used as support, while the main strike team will give the assault from the ground. Our role will be to protect them and aid them, as well as prevent the Rebels from escaping. They are believed to have at their command a force ranging between ten and fifteen transports, as well as snub fighters, among which an undetermined amount of the new Incom T-65 starfighters.”

There was an impressed silence. Luke had never gone up against a X-Wing, except in simulations, but he knew they were swift and efficient ships with capable shields, which put their own TIEs at a disadvantage. Their numbers usually were far smaller than the Empire's, which was fortunate; but for all the times he had faced them in mock battles, Luke knew they weren't to be taken lightly.

“The difficulty will be to engage the fighters while taking care to shoot as little as possible in the direction of the ground, in order not to damage our own forces' efforts. You will need to lead the enemy as high as possible in the atmosphere, or even in space. _Devastator_ will be standing by with tractors beams to receive captured ships.”

Luke nodded, along with all the others. This could prove more difficult than the standard “shoot to kill” approach, and would demand a lot of coordination. A list of suitable formations popped in his head, how to best lead the enemy fighters where they wanted them.

Mauler surveyed them all with his contrasting eyes, then spoke again.

“The highest priority will be to make sure none of them escape. However, we are to take as many prisoners as possible.”

Luke discreetly looked around, trying to assert the others' reactions, but they only seemed to be registering the information, without any particular other emotion. His stomach tightened.

He took a deep breath, very annoyed with himself. They were Rebels. They were the _enemy_. Why did he have to keep reacting like that? He had chosen a side in this war. Both he and the people fighting opposite him knew what they had signed up for. The pilot in the X-Wings they would be facing would have no qualms shooting him down, and he should have none either. He owed it to his squadmates, and to the whole Navy, actually. Feeling like this made him unreliable, he had learnt that the hard way. He had to rid himself of that weakness.

He shoved his concerns aside for the moment and focused on the meeting again. They were studying the characteristics of the planet, the different tactics they could use, how to organise each other to be as efficient as possible. He listened and participated, concentrating on the practical details, and not on what they meant.

It lasted for three hours before they finally finished. There still was a lot of planning, researching and training to be done, but that wouldn't be finished in a day. For the moment, they had done all that they could with the data they possessed.

Luke walked in silence during the short time it took to reach their quarters. A good part of the squadron had left them to attend to their business, and he was walking with Vil, Qorl, Hammer, Silver and Torpedo, but for once he didn't really feel like mingling with the others. The conversation was orbiting the upcoming assault, and he wasn't feeling in the mood to talk about that.

He was too busy trying to fight the thoughts of Biggs or Hobbie getting captured by the Empire. He still distinctly remembered the propaganda films he had seen during the Rebel meetings his friends had dragged him to, the horrifying images of these bodies racked with pain, screaming themselves hoarse, officers shouting at them. Of course even now he knew this footage to be staged, filmed and edited to be as horrifying as possible, designed to shock.

But when in his brain it mixed with his friends' smiling faces, and the dreadful understatement he had found in the paperwork he'd had to sort, it still became nauseating.

He closed his eyes for an instant and exhaled, trying to regain control of himself. He couldn't afford these doubts. He was loyal to the Empire. He had made this choice back when they all had graduated from the Academy. He wasn't about to make it again.

The Empire had freed the slaves in Mos Espa, he reminded himself. They had brought education on barren Tatooine. They were fighting crime and putting infrastructures in place on many worlds. He didn't want that to be destroyed. That was why he had joined. If the Rebels won, it would be chaos.

… Wouldn't it?

“Hello? _Devastator_ to FNG, do you copy?”

Luke blinked, startled by Vil's voice.

“Sorry, I – I hadn't realised you were talking to me,” he smiled. “What were you saying?”

The pilot smirked, and took another bottle of ale out of the cooling unit to hand it to Hammer before taking one for himself.

“I was asking if you were up for a game of sabacc. Hammer here claimed he can trash us all and I don't buy that for a second.”

“C'mon, you're terrible at sabacc, of course you'll get trashed,” Luke forced himself to smile.

“Nice. Care to prove that?”

Luke thought for a moment, hesitating before joining the others at the table. Silver had already gotten the cards out.

“Alright,” he gave in, hoping it would alleviate his mind.

He took himself a drink, then came to sit with them, and Silver began giving out the cards. They all looked at their hands: Luke's was okay, but he didn't think he'd get very far anyway. Next to him, Vil groaned.

“Kriff,” he said.

Hammer laughed.

“With such a talent for bluff, you'll be space dust quicker than a Rebel ship,” he joked.

Luke's stomach contorted again, but he brushed it off. He really needed to get a hang of himself. He wouldn't fail in this battle like he did in the previous one.

“Hey,” Hammer repeated. “It's your turn.”

“Sorry,” Luke mumbled before setting his card on the deck.

“What's the matter with you tonight?” Vil asked. “You're acting off.”

Luke shrugged and smiled. “No, I'm fine.”

“He's scared to go up in battle,” Qorl spoke up.

Luke's heart missed a beat as he crossed Qorl's gaze. The other pilot had a perfect sabacc face, and Luke couldn't read anything on it.

“What? 'Course not,” he scoffed, trying to sound natural. “Whatever gave you that idea.”

“You were brooding the last time too, before the fight,” Qorl explained. “But now it's no longer your first battle, so you're just being a coward.”

“What?” Luke repeated, growing angry. “Listen – where did that even come from? I'm not afraid!”

“Then you're being a traitor, which is worse.”

There was a deafening silence. Luke's heart was drumming in his chest, but he was gaping, unable to know how to answer.

“Wow, let's calm down a minute,” Silver said, looking as stunned and shaken as all the others. “Qorl, that's a very serious thing to say, you can't just –”

“No, let him speak,” Luke growled, gritting his teeth. “ _Why_ are you accusing me of being a traitor?”

“I'm just saying you don't seem very _committed_ ,” Qorl retorted. “As if your heart weren't completely in it. It's the same every time we talk about gunning down Rebels.”

“Now that's just ridiculous,” Luke answered. “Just because I'm not jumping in joy at the thought doesn't mean I'm not committed –“

“Yeah? Well then tell me, Lars, what are you fighting for?”

Luke glared at him.

“I'm fighting because I want to win this war, that's why,” he replied, sitting forward.

Qorl just laughed briefly, coldly.

“Oh no, that's not it,” he said. “Nobody really cares about this bloody war. That's just the tip of the iceberg.”

Luke frowned. What was he getting at? The pilot hadn't even ever really spoken to him...

“You want to know what I am fighting for?” he went on. “I'm fighting for these assholes to stop harassing innocent citizens and killing the fathers of our children. I'm fighting because they're decimating our countries, our works, and our families. I'm fighting because they're standing for a child's tantrum, a delusion that is dead and gone, and as long as I live I won't let anyone bring anarchy and ruin to the galaxy I love!”

Luke was left speechless, shaken by Qorl's words and the intensity behind it. There was an anger running deep there, a bitterness, that surprised and shocked him immensely, and for a moment he wondered what had happened to him to hurt him like this.

“That's nice and all, but if we could get back to the game...” Torpedo shyly chimed in.

He was ignored, his attempt at lightening the mood getting lost in the thickness of the atmosphere.

“I won't fail you,” Luke slowly said, his voice low and quiet, looking intently at Qorl. “I promise you that.”

For a moment they just stared at each other; then Qorl nodded once, slightly.

“I'll hold you to it.”

The rest of the game was spent in the most complete silence.


	13. Triumph

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really really ashamed how much time this took me... To my defense, I had exams, and I may have already mentioned how much battles are a hassle to write. To be honest, I'm not too satisfied with this, but well. I definitely hope, and I'll try my very best, to bring you the next chapter sooner.
> 
> Anyway, thanks to the few of you that gave me ideas for Luke's call sign - I hope I mentioned them all :3 This chapter has more action, focuses more on Luke and on the squad, but I hope you enjoy it :) I promise more Vader, and more of his relationship with his - still unknown! - son in the next chapters!

The round shape of Praadost II was glistening in the light of its star, clouds swirling on its surface, above the lush greens of the vegetation. It stood unmoving, unaware of the swarm of snub fighters that was descending towards it from the coldness of space above.

“Black Five standing by,” Luke said as Mauler asked them to report in. He was leading the squadron today, as Vader was directing the ground assault. If Luke was honest with himself, he had to admit he was glad. The Dark Lord was a menace and a very good ally to have on their side, but for personal reasons Luke preferred when he wasn't too close to him.

He took a deep breath, slowly exhaling through the mouth. This was it. It felt like ages since the last battle he'd been in, his very first, in which he'd messed up so badly. It certainly had been a while since he'd been reinstated on the squadron: a while spent training, planning, researching for this very moment. He wasn't sure if the strain in his abdomen was fear or excitement, but one thing he knew with absolute certainty: he didn't have room for error this time, and that even if his superior officer wasn't flying with them.

He easily followed his squad mates as they flew down in formation, heading all together towards the planet, in direction of where the Rebel outpost was supposed to be. It was difficult to see anything of the ground, for the canopy of the trees was thick and concealed everything. He wondered how ships would be able to fly out of the jungle without getting caught in the foliage.

“All ships remain on standby,” Mauler said. “Get in Osk formation, and look out for any enemies coming from the ground.”

Luke flew in circles, keeping watch on the sea of green under him. Now that he was getting a better look at it, he could see lighter spots through the vegetation, clearings scattered through the landscape. A few of them were large enough to let ships through, and so he focused on these. Around him, he could see his squad mates and the other pilots do the same. 

A few tense minutes passed in expectancy as they waited for the Rebels to get out. Luke was holding his breath, trying to watch everywhere at the same time. The sky was grey, so at least he didn't have to worry about having the sun in his eyes, even though it reduced visibility. With his ship's scanners he doubted it would be a problem.

Finally, a ship burst out of a clearing, darting full speed in direction of the Imperials, soon followed by a dozen more. One of the TIEs immediately fired on them.

“Let them out, I say again, Delta Six, let them out! Don't fire down,” Delta Leader ordered.

Together with Chaser and Dark Curse, Luke took one of the Rebel ships in chase, taking care to remain under it in order not to interfere with the ground battle, where their soldiers were taking the Rebel base. Soon, however, they realised they wouldn't be able to push it very high.

“Airspeeders,” the voice of Silver made itself heard into the comm. “We're not going to be able to bring them out of atmosphere into the range of our tractor beams.”

“Then fire to cripple or destroy,” Mauler replied. “And watch out for spacecraft. They're going to try and evacuate; they must not be allowed to escape.”

Together with Chaser, Luke drove the Rebel in Dark Curse's direction, cornering it. Dark Curse dodged one of its shots, then fired in turn and hit it. The Rebel plummeted down towards the ground and crashed.

Luke took a deep breath and looked away from the bright explosion, trying to keep his mind away from the enemy pilot's death. He shouldn't be affected this way by the chaos around him. He'd exercised this, he'd trained for hours in the simulators, designed to be extremely realistic. Why was it that the same flash of colours, seen from the inside of similar cockpits, evoked no more emotion in him than a fly getting eaten by a dewback then, and seized him at the throat now?

Pushing the questions and the unpleasant sensations aside, he hurried to catch up with his squad mates. Focusing on the moment allowed him to let go of some of his tension. He quickly took back his place in the formation. They were chasing another ship, and Luke fell into the movement; but this one was more tenacious than the other.

“I can't get under him,” Chaser said. “Think he's understood what we're doing. Bastard's keeping a low altitude.”

A crazy idea took hold of Luke's mind, but he hesitated. He was feeling more in tune with his craft now, hyper-aware of his surroundings, the exhilaration of the flight controlling part of his brain. He recognised there the strange sensation that made him such a good flier, but which had also led him to disobey Vader's orders the last time... was it really wise to trust it once more?

A second airspeeder joined the one they were pursuing, and suddenly they lost the advantage. Trying as they were to drive them upwards, unwilling to shoot at the ground, their restrictions were slowly giving their enemies the edge. Red bolts flew through the air, and Chaser had to do a sharp turn to avoid one. Luke gritted his teeth.

Nobody was giving him orders this time.

“I'm trying to get down,” he announced.

“What do you mean, FNG?” Dark Curse asked, sounding confused.

Luke managed to take a shot at one of the Rebels, but missed.

“I mean I'm going under them and pushing them up.”

“Are you _daft_?!” Chaser said. “They're flying level with the trees, you're gonna get tangled in the vegetation if you go any lower!”

“Trust me,” Luke answered.

Without waiting for their answer, Luke pushed the ship's control stick, and the TIE angled down towards the trees. He got past the security distance, still coming closer. He hadn't slowed down, nor had he any intention to; this near, the branches of the trees were flying by much faster than he thought they would be, so quickly he had trouble spotting those that were standing out. He bolted aside as a stick of wood was coming his way.

“Just a bit closer...” he muttered, his jaw tight, heart running madly in his temples. This _was_ crazy...

He breathed in deeply, knowing he had to get rid of his nerves if he was to succeed. He remembered the incredible awareness he had experienced guided by Vader's voice in the simulator... He had been able to reproduce it once or twice, albeit not with the same intensity, but it cost nothing to try. 

Hoping he wasn't making a big mistake, he did his best to relax, embracing the flood of sensations, letting them wash over him. He reached out, sinking deeper, until he could feel the whole jungle beneath him, know precisely where every leaf and every trunk were situated. For the shortest moment, he closed his eyes, and found his perception of the world improved rather than impeded by the instant of recklessness.

When he opened them again, his strange sixth sense was there in full force.

He zigzagged between two overgrown Jogan trees, grinning widely at the feeling of virtuosity that was overcoming him: it was like the world itself was guiding his movements, responding to his thoughts and emotions rather than his gestures, even more intense than it had been that one time under Vader's guidance.

Emboldened by this new awareness, Luke quickly located the two Rebels and positioned himself right under them, avoiding all obstacles as if they hadn't even been there. They separated, giving up on their pursuit of Luke's allies in order to escape him; but he clearly had the advantage, for they didn't dare lowering themselves to his level. He took one in chase, firing at its belly to try and force him to gain altitude; but the enemy dodged his shots, and came lower as well.

Swallowing, Luke tried to shoot it, but the small craft was agile, and kept thwarting him in evasive manoeuvres. Taking note of the tension in his shoulders, the young man forced himself to relax, and reached out instinctively, trying to guess his enemy's future movements and react to them.

A red plasma bolt missed him by a hair, and Luke bit back a curse. He'd been so concentrated on his quarry he'd completely forgotten about the other ship, that he could see on his sensors – that he could feel – was just behind him, slightly higher. Luke had to weave between the plants to try and shake it, but as he didn't want to lose the one he was tailing, it was hard to get rid of his pursuer.

He swallowed, sweat beading on his forehead. This was tense, he wouldn't be able to hold out for much longer. He had to make a decision.

He closed his eyes, waited for a lock, and shot a last time at his opponent, holding his breath as he gave his everything. If it didn't work, he would have to pull up in order not to be the one to get blasted. The green bolt left his cannon and arrived a millimetre away from his enemy, barely hitting the hull's side. Luke bit his lip – he had to rise, he was running out of time, the other Rebel was getting closer – just as he saw the ship barrel on the side, destabilised by his shot, and fall in the thick canopy of the trees, swallowed by the coat of green.

Luke pulled on his controls, rising in a chandelle and evading the fire of the second ship. The Rebel immediately followed him, but Luke came back in a loop and got behind it, firing freely now. Chaser and Dark Curse joined him, incredulous laugh echoing in his comm. Three to one were no fair odds, and soon enough their enemy was stardust.

With a small smile, Luke flew a circle in the sky, relishing in the sensation and trying to see if any of his squad mates needed his help. A TIE bursting up in flames a bit further tied his stomach in knots.

“Break-break, all fighters!” Mauler's voice rang through the comm. “Spaceships incoming from their base!” 

Immediately Luke darted towards the clearing he had spotted before, where the airspeeders had come from, like some of the other TIE elements were doing. Indeed enemy craft was shooting out incredibly fast, enjoying the Imperials' distraction to make their exit.

“X-Wings!” Luke thought he recognised Hammer's voice.

He inhaled sharply. Here their demanding training was coming to use.

Luke accelerated, coming full throttle at the X-Wing that had just left the base. He knew Chaser and Dark Curse were following him, ready to work together to push the ship at the limit of atmosphere. He fired twice, and the X-Wing changed its course, exactly in the direction Luke meant to push him to. They flew higher in the sky, the Rebel trying and failing to escape them, forced to rise against its will.

As they progressed, they entered the ceiling of clouds that was covering the planet, now having to rely on their sensors to know where the enemy would be. Blast shots shone through the thick fog, the only thing they could see. It was uncomfortable, but not too much so; Luke still had a very precise idea where the others were located.

“Black Four and Six, I think we're not heading in the right direction. We should be angling more towards 60-60 if we want to get in the beams' range.”

“Roger, Five.”

They were slowly changing directions – the X-Wing was trying to escape, but they did manage to push it where they wanted it – when Luke felt a sense of danger around them. He broke out of their formation, flying larger circles to try and determine the source of the threat. All his senses were in alert, he was barely thinking.

“Black Five, this is Black Four,” Chaser said. “What are you doing?”

“Something's wrong,” Luke replied.

“I have nothing on my scopes,” Dark Curse chimed in. “Are you sure your sensors aren't malfunctioning?”

“No, it's... something else.” Luke frowned, not understanding where the vague feeling was coming from. He had the very clear impression something bad was happening, but what it was, and especially what he could do about it, he still had no idea.

“FNG? What's going on?”

Suddenly the impression flared sharply inside him, crystallising into a compulsion Luke couldn't resist. He made a nosedive to the ground, going full throttle for a few seconds, then fired twice and straightened up again. Only then did his TIE register the torpedoes that had taken him as a target, before being destroyed by his shot in the dark.

He let out a breath, but quickly got a grip on himself. A signal had appeared on his screen: another fighter.

“This is Black Five, I have incoming. I'm going to try and distract it to cover for you.”

Chaser and Dark Curse acknowledged him, and Luke headed in the Rebel's direction, avoiding its shots. Before it could react, he flew right above its hull then turned around, now behind it, too fast for it to do anything. He shot around it, deliberately missing, just to get it moving where he wanted it to be.

He diverted it from his squad mates, forcing it upwards, towards the area where he knew _Devastator_ was waiting. They shot out of the cloud layers into the clear sky above, now clearly seeing the shape of the Star Destroyer, shining white in the light blue of the sky, its outline clearer as they rose out of the atmosphere.

The Rebel's movements became more frantic in front of Luke, who was finding it more and more difficult to keep up with it, and he knew the pilot had to be panicking. For a short moment, his mind wandered, and he pictured himself in her place: trapped, seeing a sinister outcome looming in front of her, an Imp on her tail and numerous others waiting to receive her, knowing that she would never see her friends again and that her future from now on would only be made of pain and death...

He blinked and bit back a curse, seeing that his distraction had provided an opening for the Rebel, who was darting in the opposite direction, turning on Luke. Surprised, the young man only just evaded it. Other Imperials, the ones who were making a barrage around the Star Destroyer in order to ensure none of their enemies escaped, came to help him and drive his opponent back to the tractor beam's range; but Luke and the X-Wing were closely entwined in their dogfight, and the young man knew they wouldn't dare fire in these conditions. He accelerated and shot as soon as he got a lock on the ship, which exploded, forcing Luke to make a sharp turn not to get caught in the debris.

He hurried to find back his squad mates, doing his best not to think of what had just happened. Chaser was grappling with a Rebel, and Luke approached and shot at it, forcing it to take distance. The enemy had to swerve brusquely; doing so, it got right in the reach of the Star Destroyer. A few bolts of Imperial fire later, it stopped moving, ineluctably pulled towards _Devastator._

“Thanks,” Chaser said.

They moved down again, towards the planet's surface.

In Luke's eyes, the rest of the battle was a blur of red and green fire, of twisting and twirling in his fighter. He was reacting more than he was thinking, too busy keeping track of the movements of the ships around him to focus on anything else. He flew by instinct, as one with his ship as a bird with its wings. 

He had no idea how long it had lasted when Mauler's voice in the comm ordered them to retreat to _Devastator,_ the mission successfully finished. Luke was among the first to land. He brought his ship to the racks and climbed out of it once it was in the hangar, stopping for a moment with his hand on the hull to catch his breath and come back to reality. The experience had been intense, indescribable, and he was finding it difficult to come back with both feet on the floor, which was nearly swaying under him.

A knot tied itself in his guts as he caught sight of the captured Rebel ships, a bit further. Pilots in bright orange flight suits were forced out of their cockpits then marched away by stormtroopers, dread and defiance clear in their posture. One of them struggled, before being hit by one of their men and dragged with his comrades. Luke knew the fate that was awaiting them, and that he'd helped lead them there; it was not a pleasant sensation. Guilt was roiling in his stomach, barely alleviated by the fact that he knew it had been necessary.

A TIE flying in distracted him from the uncomfortable view, and he shoved all thoughts of compassion for the Rebels aside, berating himself for his weakness and disloyalty. They had been fighting against his camp, they'd killed people on Luke's side. He dearly hoped the casualties were not too important; selfishly, he wished his own squadron would be coming back in its entirety.

He nervously watched as the pilots came back, one after the other. Squadrons were gathering together, each with their own, and Luke couldn't wait to see his squad mates join him. First there were Chaser and Dark Curse, who had been with him; then Vil and Hammer, and after them Qorl, Torpedo, Cosmo, Silver, Boomer, and finally Mauler. Luke grinned in relief: he hadn't dared hope that they would all be coming back, and to see the complete group again was a welcome surprise. The other pilots' faces were reflecting his smile, all of them euphoric to see they'd made it through and won this battle.

A hand fell on his left shoulder, and he turned his head to look at the person.

“That was a good fight. A really good fight,” Chaser said. He paused and watched Luke a little longer, as if thinking, then turned his gaze to the other pilots. “Guys? I think it's time for our FNG to get a call sign, what do you think?”

Enthusiastic shouts welcomed his proposition. Luke's heart soared, surprised. “What? Just like that?”

“How else?” Chaser scoffed.

“You're no longer really flying like a new guy,” Mauler chimed in. “I agree with Chaser on this.”

“Way too insane to go without a suitable name,” Boomer nodded.

More sounds of approval followed, and Luke couldn't hold back a delighted smile. He'd been curious to know how the pilots earned their callsign, impatient to get his own; he had wondered what it would be. Now he would know.

Together, they headed towards the squadron quarters. Luke's heart was beating in excitement: in the Academy they'd never really talked about this, and he knew it was kind of a secret among the pilots, a sort of initiation ceremony. They gathered in the living area and sat down around the small table. Before settling with the others, Vil went to the cooling area and brought a selection of ale bottles to the table.

“Permission to get drunk?” he asked Mauler.

The cyborg hesitated, his eye flickering from one pilot to the others. “Permission to drink responsibly,” he finally said. “No getting trashed. I want you functional even at the end of this.”

The pilots nodded, and all took a bottle; but when Luke tried to join in the movement, Boomer stopped him.

“Not you,” he said. “Not yet.”

“Here's how it goes,” Dark Curse said. “Each ship and each squad has its own traditions. On some they'd have you do some ridiculous stuff on-planet or get completely intoxicated, or both, to validate your naming. Black Squadron does it differently, since I don't see us descend on a war zone and risk all our lives for this, and I'm not sure when we'll next be officially off-duty all together. So we keep it simple. The rite is that you stand there on the side, and you're not allowed to drink, nor to speak a single word, until we've settled on a call sign for you. You understand?”

Luke nodded.

“Good,” Dark Curse continued. “Pilot, what is your name?”

“Luke –“ He bit on his tongue, cursing his second of inattention. “Whitesun Lars.”

“From now on it no longer is,” the older pilot replied. “As the veteran of this squadron, I hereby declare the naming ceremony of Luke Whitesun Lars, Flying New Guy of Black Squadron, open.”

All the pilots – except Luke, naturally – simultaneously took a swig from their drink.

“Before actually getting to the naming part, we each should give our call signs and the history behind them,” he went on. “I'm Dark Curse, because in my first battle I once swore very heavily in the comm right before smashing an enemy to bits. My squad never let me live it down.”

He sighed, but he had a smile on his lips. “They had a deplorable sense of humour.”

He then turned on his left and looked at his neighbour. “I'm Cosmo,” the other pilot said, “because I always have my head in the sky.”

“Boomer, because of the melodious sound of my voice,” Boomer rumbled.

“I'm Vil because my first name is Villian,” the Corellian pilot said in turn, sitting with his legs casually crossed, his ankle on his knee. “They wanted to name me Villain at first but then they finally deemed that too mean, so Vil's stuck as a compromise.”

He looked at Dark Curse with a smirk. “How's that for a bad sense of humour?”

The older pilot let out a huff of laughter. “I'll give it to you, it's even worse.”

They turned towards Mauler, who shifted in his seat, deep in thought. “When I was a kid – round our FNG's age, a bit older maybe – I used to brag about how I flew in my skyhopper, and how I'd “maul” Bothan sky dragons all the time. I stopped after Flight School, but a friend of mine got assigned at the same place I did, and the story quickly got around the entire squadron. That's how I'm Mauler.”

Luke wanted to ask him more – he'd flown in skyhoppers too, what was the model, how old was it? – but remembered in time he was supposed not to say a word.

Qorl shrugged. “I'm Qorl and that's an acronym for something, but I don't remember what.”

“Hammer – my name's Paldamar, and one night I was so drunk I couldn't articulate it correctly, I kept omitting the first syllable. So “Hammer” stayed.”

“Silver because I already had white hair at twenty-five,” Silver went on. A native of Socorro, the peculiar colour of his hair stood out even more against his dark skin.

Torpedo snickered before speaking in turn. “I had a bit of trouble with my ship's controls at first, and once I nearly rammed into one of my squad mates. The scolding of my squad leader after that was terrible – I'd deserved it but man, how awful I felt, in front of all the other pilots and everything. And then he goes and tells me I'm not a proton torpedo and I shouldn't act like one. That became my nickname way before it was officially made my callsign. So yeah, Torpedo.”

“I'm Chaser,” the last pilot finished, “because my family are hunters, and I'd often bore my squad mates stiff about chasing some game bird or other.”

“Good,” Dark Curse said. “We've heard your names; now what shall be this FNG's?”

There was a moment of silence as they thought, most of them with a devious smirk on their face, which Luke found himself not particularly caring for.

“Something stupidly reckless, like he can be,” Hammer slowly said.

“Something crazy and ridiculous,” Torpedo added.

“As much as talking back to Lord Vader, ignoring orders, and overall being a real smart mouth,” Boomer said.

Luke cringed. Apparently, they wouldn't let him off with that...

“'Smart Mouth' is good,” Cosmo nodded. 

“Considering _who_ he's getting smart with, I say 'Death Wish',” Chaser chimed in.

The others laughed.

“How about something relating to his age?” Silver said, setting his ale bottle back on his leg. “Going straight from the Academy to Black Squadron's feat enough for a call sign, I'd say.”

Boomer burst out laughing. “We'd certainly call him 'Kid' easily enough!”

Chaser smirked. “I think I promised him 'Scrawny' when we first met.”

More sniggering erupted. “Hey!” Luke shouted, indignant, which only reinforced the hilarity.

“No talking,” Mauler reminded him with good humour before Luke could finish his retort. The young man bit on his tongue and rolled his eyes. The mirth was too contagious for him to feel offended, but it was hard to stop himself from talking back to their nonsense.

“I have an idea,” Boomer said. “'Night Fury'.”

Chaser snorted. “What? Have you _looked_ at him?”

“That's the thing, it's supposed to be ironic,” Boomer retorted. “Make him sound like a menace when he looks like sunshine incarnate."

There were a few snickers. Luke suspected his face was red from embarrassment.

“You can as well call him 'Sunshine' then, it would fit better,” Torpedo said.

“You're not calling a Black Squadron pilot 'Sunshine', I'm sorry,” Vil chimed in, sounding offended. “I forbid this travesty of a call sign.”

Nobody protested Vil's words, to Luke's great relief.

“Sky Guy? Or Sky Walker?” Qorl threw, and Luke's heart stopped for a second. They couldn't possibly...

“Not bad, but a bit generic,” Mauler said, and once again the young man breathed easier. “And I think Skywalker was the name of a Jedi in the Clone Wars – so that's a big no.”

“Wait, wait, I know,” Chaser thundered, gesturing with his ale and dropping some on Qorl seated next to him, who protested. “Oops, sorry, Qorl. How about 'Shooting Star'?”

Luke's stomach contorted uneasily. Memories of Tatooine sprang back on him, unavoidable, as the voice of his best friend made itself heard, laughing after a dangerous stunt in Beggar's Canyon.

Some of the others looked at each other in confusion.

“What for?” Torpedo asked.

“Arriving, instantly causing mayhem, then making you believe he's vanished without a trace when really he's just gone into trouble a bit further,” Chaser retorted.

Everyone laughed, and Luke couldn't hold back his answer, half chuckling himself. He knew exactly what Chaser was referring to. “Now come on,” he said, “that's really –”

“You're not supposed to talk,” Boomer forcefully reminded him.

“I think I like that one,” Vil said. “It's completely ridiculous but it suits him anyway.”

“It suits his flying style as well. Sometimes it's hard to keep up with him,” Dark Curse added.

The others nodded or expressed their approval. “So I suppose that's settled?” Mauler asked, before the rest of the squadron confirmed. He raised his bottle. “To the new pilot of the Empire, Shooting Star!”

Everybody cheered, and Luke was given big claps in the back and a bottle of ale. They congratulated him, then just like that, it was over, everybody talking, celebrating both their victory and the christening of the youngest member of the squadron.

Luke participated in the merry-making for a while, then had to take a step out and sit a bit further. He stared at his ale, a little overwhelmed, and wondered if there was some bigger entity ruling the galaxy that enjoyed making fun of him. Of all the call signs, for them to give him that one was too much irony. Biggs's voice was ringing in his ears, clearer than he'd heard it in a long time.

 _We'll be a couple of shooting stars that'll never be stopped._ He'd said that enthusiastically, when Luke had told him that his aunt and uncle had finally accepted to let him go to the Academy. For this short time, their elation had erased all of their differences, and they'd been just good friends once more, without complications, overjoyed at the perspective of living a new adventure together.

How different things were now. It was painful to think about it. Not for the first time, Luke wondered what his childhood friend was up to. He hoped he was far away, having fun like he was doing now, or flying without a care, working for the cause he believed in – the cause Luke was fighting against. He hoped he hadn't been here during the battle, that he wasn't trying to deal with their crushing defeat now, or worse.

The thought that Biggs could be screaming in torment a few stories beneath Luke's feet, at the same time as he was celebrating, was sickening.

“Hey.” Luke looked up to find Vil sitting down next to him. “What are you brooding all alone for?”

Luke shrugged, tried a smile. “Nothing. It's just a bit... much. It's hard to think that just a few hours ago we were out there, risking our lives, and now...”

Vil nodded, looking like he knew exactly what Luke was talking about.

“I understand. You'll get used to it. From what Dark Curse and Chaser told me you really flew well.”

Instead of untying the knot in Luke's stomach, Vil's compliment only tightened it. No matter how he took it, he didn't manage to focus on the good he'd done, on how he'd helped his side win, and maybe saved some of his squadmates' lives; all he saw were the shapes of the Rebels being marched away, the X-Wings bursting into flames. How he wished for his conscience to leave him alone and stop tearing him apart, for his mind to cease imagining the enemy's suffering... He was so tired of doubting his choices in this way, of constantly thinking about his friends on the other side, even when he least wanted to. They had each made their decision, but living with the consequences was far easier said than done.

He scoffed, more for Vil's sake than his own, but it sounded forced. “Yeah, well, I can't keep messing up for the rest of my life.”

“Aw, come on, and here I was trying to cheer you up.” Vil stood up again, holding out his hand to him. “Come. We should join the others.”

Luke took his hand and got on his feet. They were just turning to the rest of the party when a loud alarm sound started blaring into their ears. It made them start, drowned out the chatter of the conversations. “What's this?” Luke shouted to make himself heard over the deafening noise.

The other pilots' faces were sour. The joyful atmosphere had vanished, replaced by a tense kind of concentration.

Battle concentration.

“Everyone to your ships,” Mauler ordered. “We're under attack.”


	14. Collapse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a chapter I've been looking forward to writing for a long time. Finally, we get a little bit of actual bonding between Luke and Vader! I hope you enjoy it...

Luke ran along the deck in rank with his squadmates, his helmet under his arm. Around him, other pilots were hurrying to their ships, the alarm blaring in their ears.

“What's happening?” Luke heard Vil ask Lt. Tanbris behind him.

“A small group of X-Wings are attacking the ship. Desperate survivors of the last assault, in all likelihood,” the officer replied. “They're acting frantic and disorganised, but analyses of the attack have shown there might be a risk, and they're too small to be hit by turbolasers.”

Next to Luke's ship stood a familiar shape, and he smiled seeing the small droid working on his snub. When he saw him arrive, Weefour uttered a series of happy bleeps.

“Everything ready, bud?” Luke asked. The droid whistled in what sounded like an affirmative to the young man. “Thanks!”

Weefour rolled away, directed by a mechanic, and Luke put his helmet on, then climbed down into the cockpit and started preflight checks. The fighter's temperature was still warm from its previous flight.

He looked up through the octagonal windscreen of the TIE, and his stomach slightly tightened when he caught sight of Darth Vader striding on the deck, his black cape floating behind him, everything in him screaming of danger and future destruction. The man climbed down his ship with surprising agility, considering his size. Luke looked away.

He had to admit he was surprised Lord Vader was leading them even though they were only dealing with a few Rebels. Perhaps things were more serious than he had thought.

His checks complete, he was soon cleared out by flight control, and his TIE launched into space together with the other ships. He got into formation, Vader's voice giving them instructions through the comm.

“Stay close to weaponry and shields generators. It seems to be their primary target.”

Closely following Chaser, Luke obeyed, and had to suddenly move aside as a blast shot where he had been half a second before. Three Rebels were heading their way with heavy fire, and the both of them had trouble evading them. Thankfully, they were soon joined by other TIEs, who cornered the X-Wings between them and the two Black Squadron pilots; but in an incredibly daring manoeuvre, the Rebels turned around and fired at them, taking out two Imperials.

“They're _madmen_ ,” Chaser said, his voice strained.

With gritted teeth, Luke watched out for him as best as he could as they stayed close to the generator, warding off countless attacks. The Rebels really were desperate, their assaults unpredictable and wild, and Luke had to pay extra attention in order not to lose control, relying way too much on his instincts as he escaped close call after close call.

Dark Curse and Cosmo soon joined them, but the Rebels were getting backup, too. Proton torpedoes fired in the air, and Luke noticed with dismay they had homing devices as one tailed him in the sharp turn he took. He spun and stayed close to the shield, exhaling a sigh of relief when it finally failed to follow him and crashed down on the Star Destroyer.

“Shooting Star, I have one behind me,” Chaser called him as he made circles around the command tower. “Grinder manoeuvre?”

“Roger,” Luke answered, grinning both at the perspective of the manoeuvre and at hearing his brand new call sign.

He positioned himself behind the two fighters, shooting at the Rebel while taking care of not getting into an angle where he could hit Chaser. He came closer to his enemy, the both of them tangled into a spin while Chaser took distance. The Rebel managed to escape him, only to end up into Chaser's range; Luke made a sharp turn away while the two engaged in combat, keeping watch of his ally and ready to take on their opponent should it get away. Finally, after such a few exchanges, they managed to corner the Rebel snub and to shoot him down.

“Phew, thanks,” Chaser said, perfectly expressing Luke's own feeling, just as another couple of Rebels took them in chase.

Far too slowly for Luke's taste, they managed to take them down, but it felt as if there were always more enemies coming. Luke could feel fatigue slowly creeping on him, tension in his shoulders as he wasn't left any moment of respite.

“Starboard shield generator hit!” a voice rang through the comm.

Fear crept on Luke. For the first time, the very real possibility that they perhaps wouldn't make it hit him in full force. It wasn't panic, like he had felt upon being confronted to combat for the first time; more like a slowly-settling realisation, happening while he was in full possession of his mind, which was in a sense even more frightening.

A few Rebels couldn't win against a full Imperial Star Destroyer, he raged. That was ridiculous.

Completely surrendering to his instincts, he gave himself even more to the fight. A X-Wing attacking Silver fell under his fire, relief seizing him every time enemies exploded around him, crashing down on the white-painted surface of the gigantic ship. Maybe it would be over soon. Maybe in a few minutes they could go back home, the threat neutralised.

“Black Five, this is Black Four,” he heard into his comm. There was a strange accent in his wingmate's voice. “I'm being sandwiched, you think you can help?”

Slightly below him on his left, Chaser was indeed cornered between two Rebels, and had trouble evading their fire.

“Sure thing, hold on,” Luke replied before darting in his direction.

He fired off Chaser's opponent and joined him in formation, before the two of them separated, trying to force their enemies to do the same. The fight was now more evenly matched, and the two pairs of fighters soared into space, both trying to push their enemies in a place where they could take them down. 

Luke let out a groan of discomfort. He had been split up from Chaser, and was tightly engaged with one of the Rebels. He couldn't get rid of it, even less shoot it, despite all his efforts and how deeply he had immersed himself in his sixth sense. He could feel the Rebel was just as tense as him, but smiling in exhilaration, certain it was but a question of time before Luke fell under his fire.

“Kriff –“ he heard Chaser through his comm, a slight hysterical edge to his voice. “I can't shake it!”

Luke swallowed, trying to catch a glimpse of his wingmate, who seemed to be in just as bad a position as him. Heart pounding in his ears, a foreboding knot in his guts, he staked it all and jerked up before firing blindly, attempting to startle his opponent into making a mistake. The X-Wing couldn't follow him, less agile than a TIE, and Luke finally managed to get a shot at him, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders when the Rebel blew up not too far from him.

Without losing a moment, he turned to rejoin Chaser, darting full throttle to help him, his bad feeling intensifying as he kept his eyes straight on the two ships grappling in a tight dogfight in front of him. Suddenly there was a spike of panic, a scream in the comm, and Chaser's fighter went up in flames.

Luke immediately set out after the Rebel, his throat choked up with a restrained howl. It wouldn't get out – not after – it wouldn't destroy any other of them, Luke would grind it into pieces before, he would make sure it would never cause any damage again –

Chaser's killer went out in a bright explosion, its debris disintegrating as they fell on the hull's shield.

Luke took altitude and attempted to regain control of his shaking hands. His heart was beating so fast it was painful, and he felt sick in his stomach. He flew in circles, seeking to help out anywhere he could, but the fight was slowly dying down. Only a handful of Rebels were left now, slaughtered or brought in one after the other by the remaining TIEs, who were still outnumbering them by far. Soon enough, Lord Vader called off the fight and ordered them to retreat.

This time Luke was among the last to come in. Some of the fighters around were badly singed, but casualties didn't seem to have been too high: of the three squadrons that had been sent out, Luke counted about thirty pilots who had come back.

Eleven from his own squad.

Luke took a glance at his squadmates, but evaded their gazes as they sorrowfully looked at each other, the situation slowly dawning on them as the flow of incoming pilots stopped, and they could assess who had come back, who wouldn't.

He, of course, already knew.

It was good, he told himself. It was good that so many of them were there, that they'd nearly all made it. But nearly was the keyword here. Images of Chaser's fighter blowing up in the middle of space wouldn't leave his mind; at the same time, he still expected him to surge from his snub, punching his shoulder with a laugh and a barb. He kept staring at the empty stack next to his TIE, as if that could bring back the lost ship and pilot.

He distantly heard Vader congratulating them, but for once the cold sensation spreading in his chest didn't seem to emanate from his commanding officer's proximity. He looked at his watch, checking the time. The fight had barely lasted fifteen minutes. An old memory from the Academy surged through his mind, one of their training officers telling them that most rookie pilots lasted on average five minutes in their first battle. But Chaser hadn't been a new pilot. This hadn't been his first battle. He shouldn't have been shot down.

The other pilots were starting to head back to their quarters, but Luke didn't feel like following them. He looked at them from afar as he heard a short and shaking laughter he thought he recognised as Boomer's, wishing nobody would notice him and he'd be left alone. He didn't want to move from here. He didn't want to talk to anybody right now.

Incredibly enough, they didn't even shoot him a glance as they left, and soon enough he was the only pilot left in the hangar. Mechanics walked around him and tended to the crafts, but nobody questioned him nor asked him to move out of the way. It was as if they didn't even see him, as if he was a ghost. It was true Luke didn't really feel part of the living world any longer, strangely detached from it all.

He was torn from his stupor by a questioning bleeping sound and a bump into his shins. He looked down, and managed a smile for his small droid friend, who seemed to be asking him what was wrong.

“Hey,” Luke whispered, setting a hand on the astromech's dome. “It's good to see you.”

Another whistle came out from Weefour, but Luke, of course, couldn't make out what it meant.

“You're right, buddy,” he said, without thinking about what he was saying. “I – I should go and – and take off my gear – bring it back...”

His sentence died out before he could finish it. He took a deep breath, not surprised when it had trouble going through his tight throat. He had to move.

“Come on,” he said before leaving the hangar, the droid's metal comfortably cool under his hand.

*******

Darth Vader strode in the corridor, his foul mood strong enough to be sensed even by the most Force-blind individuals. Officers and troopers alike stepped aside to give way to him as he walked, and fear followed him as a shadow; but he hardly paid attention to it. Fury was simmering in him, boiling and ready to explode on the ones responsible for this debacle.

All the officers stood up when he entered the briefing room, their faces pale as sheets. They were holding themselves with perfect poise, but for once this did nothing but irritate Vader further. He really wasn't up to dealing with pompous decorum now, and as such cut right into the heart of the matter.

“I want to know every detail about this glaring breach of security, _now_.”

The men shakily sat down, save for one, who swallowed before answering, standing at perfect attention.

“More in-depth analyses of the attack have shown that the Rebels were most likely coming from Praadost II, my lord. Stray ships having survived our previous attack –“

“That is _impossible_ ,” Vader cut him off. “They were all destroyed or captured. I saw to it personally.”

“That is what stood out of the reports, sir, considering the angle of attack and their behaviour. They were too few and too badly organised for it to be any kind of planned operation.”

The man stood bravely, but a spike of relief shot from him when Vader turned away from him and paced around the table, his hands behind his back, thinking. He was absolutely certain there had been no Rebels left in the base he had stormed with his troops. It was impossible for them to hide: the soldiers had been thorough in exploring every inch of the base for enemies to kill and prisoners to make. Even if they had somehow missed a spot, Vader would have felt their lives shining in the Force. The base had been completely empty when they had left it.

If the officer was telling the truth, that only left one possibility.

“Then that means there must be another hideout on the planet's surface. Captain Bolvan,” he said, addressing a man with black hair, “contact the Praadost authorities and obtain their consent for a complete sweep of the planet's surface. We _will_ weed out these Rebels from there.”

The man acknowledged him, but Vader already had his mind on something else.

“Have any of the attackers been brought in for interrogation?”

“Yes, sir, two of them. They are being detained in the same detention block as the prisoners we made planetside.”

“Good. Send me all data you have gathered on them, but do not go further than preliminary questioning. I will take care of them myself. What about the damaged shield generator?”

Another officer, a captain with dark red hair, answered.

“Superficial degradation only, my lord. The shielding was not affected, and repairs are being made as we talk.”

That was good, Vader thought, slightly calming down. The thought of a handful of snub fighters damaging his flagship was infuriating, and he was glad to know that would soon be remedied. All in all, the situation wasn't as disastrous as he had thought.

“Send all relevant documents about the attack to me. You are dismissed,” he said. He then exited the room, leaving all his officers behind.

He walked at a measured pace towards his quarters, deep in thought, without paying any attention to the soldiers he passed by in the hallways. Much remained to be discovered about the Rebel assault. Strategically and tactically, this kind of suicide mission didn't make much sense at all. Vader doubted there had been any kind of higher command behind it. It would have been far more clever for any undiscovered Rebels remaining on the planet to keep a low profile and wait for an opportunity to evacuate.

Unless there was another goal behind it. A diversion, or sabotage. There was a possibility the attack was a clumsy attempt to divert their attention from something hidden on planet, a Rebel project of some kind, or perhaps to drive them away: had they succeeded in bringing down their shield generators, _Devastator_ would have been forced to leave combat space to rejoin Kuat for extensive repairs. Perhaps they had concealed on planet what they knew of the secret Imperial weapon Vader was supposed to protect. In any case, Vader firmly intended to discover whatever secret Praadost II still held.

His musings were interrupted by a familiar Force presence brushing against his senses, and he stopped walking, looking for its source. A bit further, in a small recess in the bulkhead, the small shape of the boy was sitting, facing the viewport. An astromech droid stood next to him, doubtlessly the very same Vader had already witnessed him with. He was still dressed in his flight suit, his helmet laying discarded at his side. He hadn't noticed Vader's arrival, which gave the Sith Lord ample leisure to watch him.

His shoulders were sagged, his head bowed down in defeat and in grief. His eyes were too fixedly set on the stars for him to be really seeing them, and he was holding a hand to his face; Vader realised with a start that he was crying, tears streaming down his cheeks without a sound. The droid emitted a low mournful noise, and the boy turned his head to look at it, then leant in against it, his back starting to shake with silent sobs.

Transfixed, Vader couldn't look away, repeatedly hit by the waves of helpless anger and distress the boy was unknowingly broadcasting through the Force. The cause of it was hardly difficult to guess: casualties regularly happened, especially in fighter squadrons. It wasn't uncommon for pilots to mourn their fallen squadmates, but they rarely displayed their grief in the middle of a corridor, or publicly showed such a rawness to their feelings. Vader was suddenly reminded of how young Lars still was: much younger than all his other pilots, more even than himself had been when he had lost his mother.

The same age as the child he had lost would have been, had it lived.

Bitter irritation rose in him. The emotion coming from the boy was unsettling and invading, so much Vader felt personally assaulted by it. It resonated within him in an all too familiar way, hitting places inside him he had thought had been stripped of all sensitivity. Memories of a younger man forced to grow up too fast, with too heavy a burden on his shoulders and too much pain repressed inside him, struck him uncomfortably. He was too well acquainted with sorrow and with grief.

Wounded anger overwhelmed him at the unfairness of it. What right did that boy have to weep, when he was lucky enough to live, a chance his own baby hadn't even received? Could any loss compare to the one himself had endured? How could he make such an indecent display of his pathetic misery, when he had never tasted the true meaning of pain?

Taken by a cruel urge, he took a step forward, determined to use Lars' weakness to humiliate him and send him back to his quarters reminded of his insignificance; but before he could utter a word, the droid bleeped a warning, and the boy looked in his direction, noticing him at last. His cheeks coloured, and he jumped to his feet.

“My lord.”

His voice was still rough, his eyes still puffy and red, and moist tracks were still obvious on his cheeks, which made his attempt to pretend nothing was out of the ordinary laughable. The harsh words Vader had been prepared to lash out at him died on his tongue, surprised as he was by the rigour of his shining gaze.

“A rather odd place for stargazing,” he remarked instead.

He hadn't meant for it to be anything but a mere observation, but the boy looked away in direction of the viewport anyway, clearly embarrassed at being found in this state by his superior. There was a touch of resentment in him, strangely dissonant with the rest of his feelings and with his behaviour.

“I found it when I was grounded.”

His voice was subdued and soft, very different from the unruly and brash young man Vader knew. It was nearly touching to see him like that, trying so hard to hold himself together, even as his grief was on display for anyone with a grasp on the Force to read. His droid gently bumped against his shins with a concerned query, and the boy set a soothing hand on it with a sad smile. A pang went through Vader's heart.

“Who died?” he asked.

Lars pressed his lips together. “My wingmate. Chaser. He –” He interrupted himself and took a deep breath, fighting against his emotions. “I'm sorry.”

“You were close to him,” Vader guessed.

Lars nodded, unable to look up at him. Once again, the Sith Lord found himself fascinated by his vulnerability. There was simplicity in the way he was holding himself, in his quiet pain; and yet through the Force Vader could feel an undercurrent of restrained anger, whose source he couldn't determine.

“I apologise. I should go back to my quarters. I still need to change into my regular uniform,” the boy said, taking a step away. Everything in his posture expressed a desire to escape; from him, Vader assumed. He turned away from him and crouched to pick up his helmet, that had until there lied forgotten on the floor.

“Stay.”

Lars froze then slowly stood up, but he didn't turn back to face him, instead reaching out to touch the viewport pane, the stars shining under his black glove. Then his hand closed into a fist, and he sighed, bowing his head as he leant against the transparisteel.

“Why can't you leave me alone?”

The words were barely whispered, a mere breath that wasn't meant to be perceived, but Vader heard them nonetheless. The boy's anger, that he had felt simmering under the surface ever since finding him here, suddenly bloomed, and Vader understood at last: it was he who was the cause of it, his constant attention making Lars feel trapped, helpless and overwhelmed by an obsession he couldn't understand. For a second a flare of offence rose in him at his insolence, but it soon died out, replaced by curiosity. The young man was at the end of his rope, his shields nearly non-existent. Vader had never been so close to understanding him, to learning to know him and discovering his secrets.

“You wish I would?” he asked, less to obtain an answer than to let the boy know that he had been heard.

Lars started and shot him a fearful glance, before exhaling and staring back through the viewport, looking utterly defeated. Vader probed him through the Force, eliciting a shiver from him that he didn't try to conceal.

“Yeah,” he answered in a strangled voice. “Why are you so fixated on me anyway? I'm nothing special. I'm just a farmboy who keeps messing things up. Why don't you just kill me outright, rather than draw it out like this?”

“I have... no desire to kill you,” Vader said, startled by his outburst, without reflecting that these words hadn't always been true. The boy kept surprising him, unsettling him again and again. He had no idea how to react.

Lars let out a shaky laugh, and Vader uncomfortably noticed his fingers rubbing his throat, though the boy himself didn't seem to be conscious of it. “Maybe you should. It'd be better for the squadron. I should have died in Chaser's place anyway.”

He swallowed with difficulty, and Vader remained motionless, feeling entirely inadequate. The last remains of Lars' shields had fallen, and nothing prevented the Sith Lord from witnessing the storm raging in his heart. It was the perfect opportunity to gain understanding of his character, something he had wished to obtain for a long time; but now, faced with access to the deepest recesses of the boy's mind, it felt too raw and personal, and Vader couldn't bear coming closer to it.

“I was his wingman.” The boy's hands curled into fists again, another flare of devastating anger shooting from him. “It was my job to protect him. I should have saved him.” He shut his eyes tight, still leaning against the viewport. Once more an unpleasant sense of familiarity overcame Vader.

“Sometimes people can't be saved,” he said bitterly. He should just send the boy back to his quarters, he shouldn't let himself be affected like this. Oh, he hated them, both his own weakness and the young pilot who caused it. “This is war. People die.”

“He used to say that.” Again anger took over grief in the boy's mind, even though there was no clue of the change in his body language. He remained sagged against the transparisteel, his head down, his forehead on the viewport, as if he wanted to drown himself among the stars. Vader found himself taken in, despite all his efforts.

“You underestimate your potential,” he found himself saying. There was an opportunity here: surely lifting the boy's spirit would be a step towards attaching Lars to him. He didn't question the easiness with which the words came out of his mouth. “You have the seeds of greatness within you. They must only be given time to grow.”

The boy turned back and glanced at him, astonishment written on his face. “What are you saying?” He watched Vader attentively, and the Sith Lord felt strangely exposed under the clear gaze. “Are you talking about this... Force thing again?”

“Yes,” Vader replied, confident enough to take a step forward in his direction. The boy looked away, but didn't move back, which was definitely an improvement. “You have no idea how exceptional you are. Your skills are still dormant, unrefined, but once you develop them to their full maturity... you will shine brighter than any star in this universe, a power greater than anything this galaxy has ever known.”

Lars bit his lower lip and wiped his cheek with the back of his hand. Vader watched him silently as he felt his resolve come back, his confidence growing again as he pondered his commanding officer's words with confused amazement. Finally he looked up at him again, and Vader was startled by the fire in his eyes, his gaze hard and unwavering.

“Would you help me use this... Force to become a better pilot?” he asked. “I won't hesitate any longer. The Rebels deserve to die. I want to defeat them and defend the Empire, and I want to be as good as I can for that.”

Under his mask, Vader smiled in triumph. This was a query he hadn't expected to receive, and victory roared in his chest. Finally, some progress.

“You will be. I will make sure of it.”

Lars nodded solemnly, sealing their agreement; by instinct, his mind started to reach out to Vader's, clumsily seeking a bond. Then he broke the eye contact to check his watch, and the moment was over.

“Oh,” he said. “I really should go back to my quarters. I don't want my squadron to worry...”

He looked expectantly at Vader, who waved his insecurities away. “You may go.”

“Thank you, my lord.” He bowed, then turned around to walk away. A few steps later, however, his pace faltered and he stops, turning back once more to look at Vader with hesitation. It was the most unguarded the Sith Lord had even seen him.

“Uh... Thank you, sir. I mean it,” he said, somewhat clumsily, but with a sincerity that couldn't be doubted. “I will not disappoint you.”

As only response Vader inclined his head, and the boy took a few more seconds to watch him before continuing on his way. 

The Dark Lord stayed motionless, staring at him as he went. A feeling of discomfort started to awaken in his chest, mixing up with the satisfaction and the thousand other confusing emotions raging inside him. For a moment, he wondered if he wasn't making a mistake after all.


	15. Training

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aghhh, I can't tell you how glad this one's finished at last. Apologies if there are mistakes - I'll probably look it over once more in the next days.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy the chapter! It's been exactly one year now since I started to write this story. I just can't believe that it's been that long.
> 
> Oh, and since life is picking up AGAIN (I had no idea it even could), chances are my updates are going to be even more sporadic... which I hate, and I wish I could prevent it. But if in the meantime you want to make sure I'm not dead, or talk to me about anything, feel free to hit me up on my [tumblr](https://azalea-scroggs.tumblr.com)!

Debriefing was a hassle.

It was held at the very start of the day-cycle in their usual meeting room, the one where they planned, reviewed, organised most of their operations, whether training or actual war movements. Luke had woken up early, and headed there as soon as he was ready, around thirty minutes before the scheduled time. The room was silent, and the quiet bore down on him. He was grateful for Mauler's order to prepare the electronics for the meeting. Maybe he should have taken another cup of caf.

He kept tinkering with the holodevice long after he had adjusted all the necessary settings. Machines were comfortable and familiar, soothing.

He had reviewed all the possible functions of the device and could probably install it in his sleep when the other pilots joined him for the debriefing. Forcing a smile, he greeted them and exchanged the usual morning pleasantries, but couldn't hold their gazes for very long. He wished nothing more than for the meeting to start soon.

Once they all were present, Mauler entered the room and closed the door. Luke looked up, taking a second to search for the missing face before remembering why it wasn't there with a pang to his heart. He looked down again, angry against himself.

“Gentlemen, you know why we're here this morning,” Mauler started. “This battle was unforeseen and unplanned, but it is in such conditions that we truly show what we're made of. It is an opportunity to learn. During the next hour, I want all of us to point out every mistake we've made, every move we could have performed more effectively, every badly-weighed reaction we've had. Feedback is how we learn best, and I hope you can be as honest with me as I always try to be with you.”

Each in turn, they chimed in, dissected the battle from their own point of view while Mauler was taking notes and completing with his own observations.

“I have a confession to make, I had no idea where the rest of the squad was most of the time,” Silver said.

Vil and Qorl nodded, Boomer vocally concurred.

“I had the same impression. These Rebels were swirling around us like flies, I never had a breath of time to check out where my squadmates were.”

“You're right,” Mauler said, scribbling on his datapad. “It was difficult to keep track of each other's positions, mostly because of how the battle was so concentrated around the shield generators. We didn't have much time to organise our defence and it showed.”

He raised his head and looked at them, the red light of his eye as intimidating as usual.

“I also think I was wrong to let you drink yesterday night. We didn't expect to take flight again, and that was a mistake.”

A pang went through Luke's heart. Chaser had been one of the most enthusiastic pilots to toast to his new call sign.

He swallowed and breathed in. This wasn't going to help. He had to be better, stronger.

“I was surprised by the Rebels' tactics,” he said. “We're used to coherent enemies who calculate risks roughly like we do. I was unbalanced by their recklessness. I guess there's a big space for improvement there.”

“Very true,” Mauler nodded, thoughtfully looking at him. “That's a pertinent remark. Dealing with erratic enemies is particularly challenging. Any idea how to better that?”

The whole squadron thought for a second.

“Reflexes,” Luke said. “If we're not gonna be able to foresee what they plan, then our reaction time has to be shorter. We need to be fast.”

“Absolutely,” Mauler answered. “And constant attention. To surprise, but not be surprised. Expect a couple of sessions about it in the future. Anything else?” 

They kept analysing the battle, recalling a piece of theory or a useful squad formation from time to time; then, Mauler checked his watch, and closed the meeting.

“Okay, guys, this is where I leave you. Debrief's over. Let us all take us into account in our practice. Five minutes, then flight plan?”

Luke was among the first to leave.

*******

The hiss of the helmet depressurising, followed by the rush of oxygen-enriched air on his face, was an immense relief for Vader. He took a few feeble but deep breaths, enjoying the way his weakened lungs expanded on his command, as small as the movement was due to his condition. Slowly the unpleasant feeling of disgust alleviated, even though his fury didn't abate, potently simmering in the pit of his stomach.

The Rebels' interrogation had given him _nothing_ , he fumed while wiping his slick gloves with a cloth. He had been unable to tear a single reliable piece of information out of the incoherent rambling, screams and pleas of the prisoners. No satisfying explanation of their plans, no hint to what they were hiding on-planet among all the ludicrous suggestions they had tried to feed him, and most importantly, no clue whatsoever to what they knew of the battle station being built systems away from here.

He would have to try again later, he darkly mused, pinching the bridge of his nose, but in his current anger he feared he might kill them before they gave him anything valuable. And considering what his next task involved, he needed to regain his composure.

He had received a message this morning from one of his aides, informing him that the Praadost II authorities had refused to grant them authorisation to further access their territory. Unwilling to let it stay, and irritated by their pointless resistance, he had managed to appoint a holo-conference with them that very morning to discuss the matter. He had never been fond of, nor particularly gifted at diplomatic negotiations, but it didn't matter. All he had to do was remind them of their Emperor's will, and the Empire's might. Refusal on their end was not an option.

He took some more time to meditate and breathe before he sufficiently felt master of himself, then let the mask descend on his face again, red plastic filtering his vision once more. Once the sensation of the helmet enclosing his head had sent him into bouts of panicked claustrophobia, but it had been long enough now for him to be completely used to it, even though he doubted the feeling would ever be pleasant.

When he arrived at the conference room, five minutes before the scheduled appointment, two technicians who were operating the holoconsole were already present, working on the transmission. The lights were dimmed so that the image would be easier to see. Vader positioned himself in front of the transmitter.

Soon after, a cone of blue light flickered and transformed into a three-dimensional picture of two human women, wearing elaborate ceremony clothing. They lightly bowed to him when the image had stabilised.

“Lord Darth Vader,” one of them coldly greeted him. “What an honour to meet you.”

“Let us dispense with the pleasantries, President Samu'ul,” Vader snarled. “I am here to obtain the right to investigate Praadost II that you thought appropriate to deny me.”

President Samu'ul's face didn't betray any of her emotions; neither did her presence in the Force, hidden behind potent shields. A true politician, Vader reflected in disdain.

“I deeply regret to say we cannot grant you that. I thought we made our position quite clear. Your invasion of our planet was illegal and led to grievous destruction of our biotope, as well as harm to several citizens. We will demand compensation from the Empire, and are not prepared to accept another such violation from you.”

“I have no patience for your claims,” Vader snapped. “I am here on behalf of the Emperor, for critical galactic matters. Armed Rebel activity has been discovered on-planet, a capital offence in the terms of Imperial Decree VI-856. You _will_ grant us access to your soil for further investigation if you do not wish to be punished as the traitors you are.”

The president didn't seem surprised in the least by his accusation, which Vader had expected.

“If Rebels have set up on our territory, it is without our knowledge and consent,” she said. “Our involvement cannot be proven. We are innocent, and will not stand while you disturb the peace of our citizens this way. The allegation will be investigated, and you are welcome to send a representative to help the search and control our results; but Imperial military presence within our borders is –”

“Whether or not proof is sufficient to incriminate you will be left to my own appreciation.” Vader interrupted her, waving a menacing finger at the hologram. “By decree of the Emperor I have been given full power to deal with situations involving insurgency as I see fit. You will comply or be made to step aside.”

A flash of annoyance surged in the eyes of the Praadosian representative. Some reaction at last.

“You are making a grave mistake, Lord Vader. This course of action violates several interstellar conventions the Old Republic ratified long ago, before the Clone Wars, and that have not been abolished since then.”

“The word of the Emperor prevails over all other treaties,” Vader replied.

Samu'ul's companion let out a gasp of outrage, but the president raised a hand to prevent her from intervening.

“We will not abide by this,” she said, proudly raising her chin and looking Vader straight in the eye. “These treaties you hold in such contempt grant us powerful allies. You will not get away with this.”

“I look forward to this future encounter, then,” Vader answered with a mocking bow, smirking behind his mask when the woman's irritation finally slipped through. “In the meantime, I would be grateful for you to lower your planetary protections within the week; otherwise assault shall be given.”

Samu'ul threw him an icy glare.

“The message is duly received and will not be forgotten,” she said, before the communication flickered and died.

Contact was cut, the lights returned to their normal intensity, but Vader didn't immediately move, dissatisfied by the result of the meeting. He would have preferred to deal with this without involving any other planets, but if the Praadosians insisted on being difficult, he would do what he needed to. He had no doubt Praadost's allies would be no match for Imperial power. Nevertheless, the treaties would have to be researched, the threat analysed so that they knew exactly what they were facing, and could ask for reinforcements if need be.

“Send me the transcript of the transmission,” he curtly ordered one of the technicians, leaving the room before he could even answer.

He walked out and took the direction of his quarters. This was infuriating. It seemed like everything concurred to prevent him from learning what the Rebels were hiding. For a moment, he wondered if the Praadosians were not directly involved and actively trying to protect them, but he quickly discarded the thought. It didn't matter whether or not they were complicit; their impeding his research would nonetheless be punished.

He was taken out of his thoughts when a short figure nearly walked into him. The officer stopped himself just in time with a look of terror on his face, then took a step back and put himself at attention. Vader nearly lashed out in irritation, then stopped himself upon recognising the young features.

“My lord – I'm sorry.”

Vader took his time in watching him, taking some perverted pleasure in prolonging the apprehension he could feel from the boy. Clearly the pilot was still afraid of him, although his fear seemed to have diminished; for now he mostly seemed busy, his mind solely on his work as he was interrupted in his purposeful stride, two flimsibooks under his arm.

“Has nobody taught you to look in front of you while you walk, Ensign Lars?” he asked, letting his displeasure filter through his vocoder.

“I was distracted, sir, I apologise.” He remained immobile, clearly uncomfortable, and waiting for nothing more than for his commanding officer to let him go on his way. Vader let him stew for a few more seconds, then found that he had no more reason to keep him here and waved him away, knowing his own duties were calling him.

“Apology accepted. You may go.”

The boy relaxed and let his right arm fall down, but he surprisingly didn't hurry away, looking up tentatively at Vader. The Dark Lord was about to dismiss him more bluntly when he spoke.

“My lord?” he said. “I was wondering if, uh... if your offer of yesterday still held?”

Ah. Yes. Vader's mind immediately came back to the night before, where he had – he himself still didn't have any idea how – managed to find himself somehow comforting the boy's grief. The good side of it was, of course, that the young pilot had finally given in, and accepted his offer to guide him in using his tremendous potential in the Force.

Naturally, there was still no question of Lars becoming his actual apprentice: the advice he has asked for solely focused on piloting and bettering his flying skills. But it was a start, nevertheless.

“Join me at 1500 in the simulators' room,” he answered the boy.

A flash of surprised anticipation escaped from Lars, but he let none of it appear on his face: it seemed he was finally learning some much-needed self-restrained. He snapped into a salute.

“Thank you, sir! I'll be there,” he said.

The Dark Lord nodded in acknowledgement, and the boy quickly moved away. He strolled back to his own quarters as well.

This would certainly prove to be interesting. His pupil's emotions were tightly repressed, boiling right under the surface; the slightest thing would undoubtedly liberate them, something his own temper, dangerously short as it was now, certainly wouldn't fail to achieve. He was curious to see how the boy would react to the dark side, how the passions he hid in the deepest corner of his heart would manifest into the Force.

He was looking forward to it.

*******

Luke was already feeling much better when he came back at the squadron's meeting room, where the rest of the pilots was waiting for him for weather and safety briefing. He offered them a short greeting, then set his burden on the table.

“There it is, sir. Complete description of Praadosian weather, with charts of aerial currents and of the main winds, as updated by our sensors. Oh, and here's the digital version,” he said, before taking a datachip from his pocket and handing it to Mauler.

“Thank you,” Mauler said before plugging the chip in the holoprojector and turning it on. The now familiar shape of the planet they were orbiting appeared in front of them. “Keep this quick, we've already flown in this airspace and we already know the basics. What are the previsions for the next week, what do we need to watch out for?”

Luke answered, using the diagram to illustrate at times, and the charts when questions came up. A mere twenty minutes later, the briefing was over, and they were finally left to go on their ways. The young man sighed and took a moment to stretch. He understood theoretical meetings and planning sessions were important, but they rarely had such a long span of them: they had barely trained in the cockpits for one hour today. Still, he was glad his day was so packed. It was the only way if he wanted to progress.

And speaking of cockpit training... Stifling a yawn, he looked at his watch. It was 1450. In ten minutes he had his appointment with Vader.

Nervousness roiled in his stomach at the memory of the last times he had found himself alone with his commanding officer. There was no reason to fear, he told himself; surely if Vader hadn't killed him before, he wouldn't do it now, and what worse could happen to him than being strangled to death? But no amount of rational thinking could unravel the tight knot at the pit of his guts. He had no idea what to expect.

He rose up, addressed a quick goodbye to his squad mates, and set up for the simulators room. Nervous he was, but he was also excited at the perspective of learning more about what he had come to call his sixth sense – what Vader called the Force. He was aware the mysterious ability had probably saved his life during the battle of Praadost and the surprise Rebel attack that had followed. And still he had no idea what it was, where it came from, and why it seemed he was the only one to possess it, save for Vader, that was. He had so many questions, and was looking forward to obtaining at least some answers.

The lights were still off when he entered the room; that had to mean he had arrived first, he thought. It was good. He turned in direction of the switch, and held out his hand towards it. But before he even touched it, the lighting flared to life, illuminating the room.

“I am glad you came, young one.”

Luke started, turned towards the sound: Vader was standing not far away from him, next to the machines. “Before we start, I need you to answer a question I already asked you. What do you know of the Force?”

“Not much, sir,” Luke answered, trying to calm his beating heart. He had been so surprised, taken completely off-guard. “I gathered from our previous conversation that it was the thing that helped me fly and made my reflexes good, but otherwise, I don't know.”

Vader tilted his helmet in his direction.

“It is that, and much more,” he replied in his rumbling bass. “The Force is what binds the universe together. It surrounds and penetrates us all, and is part of every living being in existence. Life creates it, and cannot exist without it. It is an entity of great power; a power that can be harnessed by those who are strong enough.”

“Strong? Strong how?” Luke asked. With his own slender frame and his short size, he certainly couldn't be considered strong in the most common sense of the term, although his training hopefully allowed him to hold his own against most civilians.

“Not in the physical sense,” Vader said, confirming his doubts. “The Force is present in all living beings, but some are more sensitive to its currents than others. You, young Lars, are tremendously strong with the Force.”

Luke nodded, already feeling quite overwhelmed. “So... because I'm, uh, strong with the Force, that's why I've got so good reflexes in flight?”

“Precisely,” Vader answered. “You have only started to tap into that power. The well of possibility at your fingertips is endless; with time and practice... But enough talking. Get into the cockpit. I will show you.”

Luke hurried to obey, and wrapped his hands around the controls, still unsure what to expect. Outside the simulator, Vader was tinkering with the interface to choose a training programme.

“Close your eyes,” he ordered, and Luke complied. “Take deep breaths. Be conscious of your body... of your feet, your lungs, your fingertips. Let your feelings wash over you. Are you ready?”

Luke took the time to complete the strange exercise, then opened his eyes. “Yes.”

“Very well.” The countdown for the program launched, and Luke grasped the controls tighter. Three, two, one – then it began.

He was in space, around some kind of planet, but he didn't have time to admire the scenery. Already an enemy fighter was coming at him, closely followed by a second; Luke's heart missed a beat. He tried an evasive manoeuvre, bit his lip upon seeing they followed him easily. He looped, fired at them; without success. By the time he was stable, a third one had appeared on his scopes. It started following him with increasingly precise shots. Luke rolled on himself, turned left and right, his breath quick, his heart pounding in his chest, but nothing shook the opponents. A breath later, he was dead.

The screen went dark, and Luke fought to regain his breath, his hands trembling. “What – what _was_ even that thing?”

“Your goal and assignment for today. Destroy all the enemies,” Vader replied.

“But – but there are so many of them! This is impossible!” Luke protested. _How_ was he even supposed to succeed in this... this absolute hell of a simulation?

On his left, Vader was staring him down with what he was pretty sure was contempt, his arms crossed in front of him. Luke balled his fists.

“So quick to give up, then?”

“I'm not giving up!” Luke protested, increasingly annoyed. “It just would help if you gave me an exercise that was actually possible to complete!”

Vader didn't answer him immediately, and Luke suddenly realised on what tone he'd just spoken to his commanding officer. Terrified at the implications, he hastened to apologise, rubbing his throat.

“Sorry, my lord.”

“No matter. Are you ready to try again?”

Luke pinched his lips and nodded, even though he really didn't feel like it. He had never been in such a difficult simulation: he barely had time to see his opponents before they fired at him, had no chance to shoot back. He felt completely helpless, and had no idea how to change that.

Once again the countdown started, once again it was over before Luke could react. He did it over one, three, five times, without noticing any improvement. After the eighteenth time, he angrily sighed and looked up at Vader in despair.

“I'm sorry, sir. I can't do it. I just can't,” he said, leaving the cockpit.

He felt dejected and frustrated as he sat down on the bench at the side of the room, wiping his brow. He didn't understand what Vader was doing, why he was making him do this. All his teachers had always been adamant on starting slow, with the basics, before increasing the difficulty. Of course the rhythm of learning had always been incredibly quick, but nothing had ever compared to this. He had the impression he was an incapable, terrible at what he was doing. It was the first time it was happening to him, and it was immensely discouraging, especially since flying had been his passion for so long. If he couldn't do that, what could he do?

“You have barely been at it for fifteen minutes,” Vader remarked. “Already you expect results?”

Luke looked up at him, frowning. He hadn't thought of it that way. When he put it like that, of course, it seemed ridiculous.

But he had always obtained results very quickly.

“No, sir,” he said. “But I don't know what to do to improve myself.”

“Do it again, and again, and again,” Vader replied. “There is no other way. Not once have you tried to open yourself to the Force.”

That was true, Luke realised, suddenly quite ashamed of himself. He'd been so taken in the panic of being assaulted in full force by these fighters that he hadn't thought at all to use his sixth sense. He felt especially stupid for that, considering that was what he had come to learn.

“How do I do that?” he asked. “I don't have enough time to concentrate.”

“Time is unnecessary. Your emotions will make it possible; they are running high at the moment and will help you. Do not trust your senses, for they will betray you. The Force is the only thing you can rely on.”

Luke slowly nodded. Already his motivation was coming back. He rose up and came back to sit into the sim's chair, decided to put Vader's advice into practice. He took deep breaths in, then out.

“Close your eyes,” Vader said.

Luke obeyed, then was startled when he heard the sound of the countdown starting. He gripped his controls tighter, watched as the familiar numbers came down.

“Keep them closed.”

He wanted to protest – how was he supposed to pilot without seeing? –, but his fighter was about to be launched and there was no time. He complied with reluctance, fired blindly at the others. Unsurprisingly, he was shot down even quicker than the previous time. He opened his eyes again, breathed in, out, and prepared for another shot.

He frowned when the simulation didn't start over. A look at his commanding officer made the pit of his stomach freeze: Vader was standing with his arms crossed, looking down at him in what Luke knew was displeasure. Fear knotted his guts, anxiety and guilt whirling in him even though he had no idea what he had done wrong. He didn't dare utter a word.

“Have you come to learn, Ensign Lars, or merely to play in the simulators?”

The words were like a blow in Luke's abdomen. He swallowed, took a trembling breath.

“I –“

“You are not listening to a word I say. You keep doubting and questioning my advice. If you are unable to trust I can teach you anything, you are welcome to leave and stop wasting my time.”

Luke looked down, ashamed with himself. Vader's orders seemed ludicrous, and he had no idea how it was supposed to help him most of the time; but he was right. If Luke wanted to learn from him, he actually had to trust him and apply his advice.

Unbidden, the memory of his first battle rose to his mind. He had been certain, back then, that the course of action Vader wanted him to take would only lead to disaster. In actuality, it had led to destruction of the Rebel base. Perhaps this was the same: odd advice, for unexpected results.

“I apologise. I really want to learn from you,” Luke said. “I will make an effort.”

“Good. The craft of the Force is one of instinct, of intuition. In order to learn it one must set aside all their preconceptions. You must not only do what I tell you; your mind and heart, too, must be at it.”

Luke nodded. He understood better now; or so he thought.

“Again,” Vader said.

Without a word, Luke turned back to the simulator's screen, still feeling extremely nervous.

“Now close your eyes. Breathe in, and out. Connect to your environment; feel the machines, feel the electricity running through them, feel me.”

Luke complied. Already he perceived his surroundings better.

The simulation started again, but this time Luke didn't open his eyes. He stayed centred and focused, paying attention to his breath.

As soon as his ship was launched, he turned on his right, then did a barrel roll before hearing fire coming just next to his craft. He took speed, pulled up, fired; one enemy ship was destroyed. But it wasn't over, he knew another was coming at him. He plunged again, turned left, right, rose once more, the ship still following him. He gritted his teeth, jerked aside, cursed as he felt the heat of the blast come too close, fired a bit too late, one second before turning into space dust again.

“Better,” Vader said, and he dared open his eyes once more. “Much better.”

Luke nodded, feeling a smile tug at his lips.

“I think I get it now. But I still didn't manage to destroy more than one.”

“Then you must start again,” Vader said, and Luke was in for one more round.

The next try lasted closer to three minutes, so did the one after, but Luke never managed to take down more than one enemy, sometimes still getting killed before scoring any hit. It was starting to wear on him, strain and stress and frustration slowly building up.

Once more he was starting to wonder if the task truly was possible.

“Use your anger,” Vader told him. “Take it, connect to it, fuel your power with it.”

Luke gritted his teeth and obeyed. He was one with his craft, he felt the simulation all around him, reacted before his brain had time to register what was happening, the buzzing of the machine's electricity filling his ears and preventing him from thinking. There was no past, no future, only the present in which annoying opponents were trying to taking down.

But he wouldn't let them. He owed it to Chaser to survive.

Finally, after what felt like hundreds attempts, Luke managed to destroy all enemy ships at last. He stared at the screen in disbelief for a few seconds, his heart thundering in his chest, his hands trembling and clammy with sweat, but euphoric. He rose up, grimacing when his legs unfolded. His surroundings were spinning. Everything seemed much more intense than it was before, as if the world somehow had gained in reality during the time he spent flying.

“Very good,” Vader praised him. “Go back to your quarters, get some food and rest. You have earned it.”

Luke thanked him, utterly exhausted. He barely managed a salute before leaving the room. His balance was slowly coming back to him. He distractedly looked at his watch, and gaped when he saw the time: Vader had kept him for eight hours.

No wonder he was so tired, he thought. It was the most intense training session he had ever received. But he was happy. He truly had noticed how his flying had improved, how many things he could do now that he had never imagined were possible.

He fell asleep as soon as his head touched his pillow.

*******

After Lars departed, Vader went back to his quarters, still thinking about the training. The boy was rash, and impatient, with a quick temper and an immense gift, so young and eager to learn. Again Vader was taken back to his own learning days. It was a strange feeling, to now be the master where he had once only been the learner.

He discarded these thoughts, troubled. These days were long over. The boy was a tool, nothing more, a way for him to overthrow his master, as was the Sith' way. The fact that he enjoyed teaching him only meant he was looking forward to strike.

Still, he was irritated to find his blue eyes and accented voice following him as he prepared for the night.


	16. Resolve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's 1.30am here. Please forgive the typos, I'll reread this better tomorrow - now I'm crashing to sleep. Good night and read well :P

Luke bit his lower lip in concentration, a hand in his hair. He looked down at the training report he had to submit, and thought for a second before typing a few words in the form on his datapad. Despite how many times he'd had to do this, expressing himself in written words still didn't come naturally to him, even though he now manipulated the most common phrases and standard formulas with enough ease.

He huffed with a small smile. This remained, and he suspected would always remain, the least fun part of his job. Still, he was getting used to it. It was, in the end, just a minor inconvenience.

He absently reread what he already had, then typed a few corrections. The chore was bearing on him more than usual, but he perfectly knew why. His free time, already scarce, had all but disappeared since he'd started his training with Lord Vader. As a result, his administrative duties had started piling up, to the point it had become a little discouraging to tackle it. But he knew he had to get to it soon, knew the sanctions if he didn't do it in time, and so it was the first thing he'd done when his hectic schedule had started calming down.

He had brushed the idea of asking one of his squadmates for help; he'd already done this kind of favour for a few of them, when they were in the kind of situation he now found himself in. But he'd rejected it quickly. It had all turned out fine, anyway, since he'd been able to find a lull in his day to complete it.

He skimmed over the form a last time, then sent it onwards with relief. It was the last one; he was now free.

He yawned and stretched, then let his arms fall down. He had nothing left to do: the paperwork was sent, he had already worked out, and practising in the sims was out of the question, since he needed to keep his energy for the no-doubt draining session he had planned with Lord Vader a little later that day. He thought again, but came to the same conclusion: for the first time in days, there were truly no duties for him to perform at the moment.

Feeling somewhat lost, he looked around him, wondered what to do. Before, in these rare and precious moments, he'd have gone bother some other pilot of his squad, seen what they were doing, if any of them was up for a chat. Often Chaser would have been with them, sent him a barb or another, playfully shoved him away... A pang shot through Luke's heart, familiar now. No, he didn't feel like joining his squad.

He slouched on his chair, put the balls of his hands on his eyes, trying to fight against the flow of emotions he was no longer distracted from. He couldn't break down now – not here, in this empty meeting room, where he had come to seek silence and peace to concentrate.

Turned out, once there was nothing left to focus on, the quiet was just making it difficult for him to keep avoiding his grief.

_“How long did you stay brooding over your missed landing before checking in?”_

He pursed his lips and took a deep breath, feeling rather hollow at the thought that there would never be such moments any more. He stared fixedly at the table, barely noticing the abstract patterns his hand was tracing on it.

It was little things like that that got him every time. He would go on about his day, then a memory would hit him, and he would be reminded of his fallen comrade without a warning. He wondered if it would ever stop, this feeling of loss, of something missing.

He knew Chaser wouldn't want him to wallow in sorrow like this. He'd want him to keep fighting, to survive and help them win this war, something Luke had every intention to do. It didn't make the mourning any easier.

“Damn you,” he whispered to the empty room. “So typical of you, to leave me the hardest job.”

Nobody answered him, but Luke could perfectly picture his wingmate's smirk, the smug look on his face as he told him that it forged character for the newbies to tackle the meanest tasks. His heart felt lighter, and he laughed to himself, feeling melancholy, unable to know which of joy or sadness was the strongest in him.

The sound of footsteps approaching made him look up. He smiled and greeted the other pilot.

“There you are!” Silver said. “We were wondering, since none of you has seen you since morning. We're having a short lunch break, do you want to join us?”

Luke looked down, hesitated. “Uh, yeah, I...” he stammered, looking for an excuse. He wanted to say he had work he needed to finish; but that would have been a blatant lie.

Silver seemed to see through it. He stepped towards him and came to sit down on the empty chair in front of him. Luke looked up and met his gaze.

“You've been pushing yourself way too hard lately,” he said. “It's not necessary. We're a squadron. We help each other. You know you can count on us, right?”

Luke nodded, lowered his eyes again, both moved by his squadmate's concern, and ashamed that he'd need it. He was tired, at times, of being the youngest of the squad, always the one looked after, cocooned, teased mercilessly; but right now he really felt like that green boy the others made him up to be.

“I know,” he replied. “It's just...”

He trailed off, not knowing how to express himself. How did one explain this weight on one's chest, this feeling of vulnerability, of not being enough? 

“Yes. I know what you mean.” Silver was looking at the table as well. “You think you're invincible, then death catches up with you and all of a sudden everything gets real.”

Luke nodded. That was a good way of putting it. He looked up at Silver again.

“Does it get better? With time?” he asked.

“Yes, actually,” Silver answered. “It might be hard to believe now but it does. It's a nasty shock every time, of course, like an electric wake-up call to remind you of stuff when you get too complacent. Sometimes it's someone you really cared about, and it takes a little more time to accept it. But you get back up, you keep going, and eventually their absence stops bearing on you so much. You learn to live with it.”

Luke smiled, a bit better already. His stomach chose this moment to rumble loudly. He laughed, a little embarrassed.

“How about that lunch?”

Silver smiled, and they headed in the direction of the squad's main rooms.

All of the others were there around the table, already eating, and the both of them took place in the empty chairs. Luke found himself sitting next to Boomer, who greeted him enthusiastically.

“Shooting Star! It doesn't do to avoid us like that. Where did you disappear?”

“Just had work to complete,” Luke smiled. “Not everyone can afford to slack off all day long.”

“If you were as efficient as you're cocky you'd get stuff done in about half the time,” Boomer retorted.

Luke opened his mouth to reply, but a laugh came out instead. He held out his hand, took a piece of bread from the middle of the table as well as some ham and started making himself a sandwich.

“Man, I can't believe how famished I am,” he said. “Feels like I haven't eaten in forever. Who went to the mess to take the food?”

“Torpedo,” Boomer said. “He replenished the cooling unit yesterday since, you know, you didn't.”

Luke cringed.

“Yeah, I know, that's supposed to be my job. Sorry, I'll try to be more careful about it.”

The conversation then veered to the tactics meeting of the morning, to what they thought they would be doing next, light-hearted chatter Luke mused he had sorely missed. He'd been so taken up in his training, and in avoiding to think of Chaser, that he'd completely cut himself off from his squadmates. That had been a mistake, he supposed. Silver was right: he had pushed himself too hard. Moments like these also made up the life of the squadron; he had neglected them.

After what had felt like a short time, Mauler rose up. Luke couldn't help a small smile at the familiarity of it. He was pretty sure he knew what he was going to say; if not the exact phrasing, then the general idea.

“Boys, if everyone's finished, I'd like for us to head towards the meeting room in five for mission briefing.”

Mission briefing, Luke mused with curiosity. So soon after the last one? He wondered what he could be about. He rose from his chair and started tidying the table together with all the others, then followed the movement as they got out and in the corridor.

As they neared the briefing room, a cold Force tendril came to nudge and probe Luke, who shivered. He frowned in surprise, not completely at ease.

“Huh,” he said. “Lord Vader's briefing us himself? I wonder what kind of mission this must be...”

Vil, who was walking next to him, threw him a confused look.

“Lord Vader? What are you talking ab... oh.”

The black-clad man couldn't be missed, towering as he was at the end of the room. Mauler came up to him and exchanged a few words with him, while everybody else took a seat. Luke sat at the end of the table, not quite in front of Vader, in a place where he could hopefully go unnoticed. Finally Mauler sat down in turn, and Vader started to speak.

“Multiple clues, including the last senseless Rebel attack, lead to think that the outpost discovered on Praadost II was not the only thing the planet is concealing. We have not been able to learn where, how big, or even what we are looking for, and as such a complete sweep of the planet will be needed.”

He pressed a button, and the now familiar shape of the planet started slowly rotating in front of them.

“You will be on the first line, the spearhead who will scan the surface of the planet for anything suspicious. Under you, a ground team will perform their own search; your job will be to assist them and protect them.”

He paused and looked at them.

“As the Praadosian authorities have not seen fit to allow investigation, resistance is to be expected. Other squadrons will be standing by near the planet to repel external threats. You, however, will be the only ones being in direct contact with the ground team and collaborating with them personally.”

They nodded, frowns of concentration on their faces. Luke stared absently at the turning planet, not knowing too well what he was feeling. He hoped they would find out what the Rebels were concealing, what was so important to them down there that they had dared attack a Star Destroyer in such a disorganised and foolish way.

A wave from Vader's hand, and several points appeared on the globe rotating in front of them as he started to explain to them the plan in much more detail. Luke bit back a smile upon feeling him use the Force. What a show-off, when pressing another few buttons would have had the exact same result, and nobody but him knew what he was doing anyway! As soon as the thought reached his mind, he threw a scared glance at his commanding officer, knowing he could read his emotions. He dearly hoped he hadn't noticed anything... Vader didn't react, however, and Luke brought his attention back to the meeting, reassured.

Finally, Vader asked for questions, answered those who had some, then closed the briefing. He headed to the door, eliciting a shiver from Luke when he passed him by. The young man was getting more used to the Dark Lord's presence, but its intensity remained overwhelming nonetheless.

He thought his heart missed a beat when, about to cross the threshold, Vader stopped as on an afterthought and turned towards him.

“Ensign Lars. Simulators room in –” he trailed off for a second, “– ten minutes.”

“Yes, my lord,” Luke answered, feeling the gaze of his squadmates on him. Vader had brought forward their meeting time from a good half-hour.

Vader nodded, then left, and the room breathed. Unfortunately, as Luke had expected, so did the questions.

“Simulators room? What for?” Boomer asked.

“Well, flying lessons, actually,” Luke said. He stared Boomer in the eye for a second, then looked away, already feeling the rest of the inquiries coming.

“Flying lessons?! What even for?”

“Why'd Lord Vader want to train you? I don't think he's ever done that before...”

“Not like you need it, why would he spend time on that?”

“Guys, please,” Luke intervened, thinking as quickly as he could, without any idea what explanation he could give them. Boomer and Vil had already stood up, and were the closest to him, but all of his squadmates' eyes were set on him. Only Mauler wasn't looking at him, busy as he was gathering his notes and turning off the holoprojector. 

How did one explain the Force, put into words such an abstract and wide concept? He couldn't possibly talk about his sixth sense. They'd think he was crazy... He swallowed, decided to give them a half-truth.

“I'm not really sure why, okay? I just... told him I wanted to be a better pilot, he offered to teach me, I accepted. That's all there is to it.”

“That's where you were being the last few days, that we barely saw you?” Vil asked.

“Yeah,” Luke said, then hasted to continue in front of the puzzled looks of his other squadmates, the way Torpedo frowned and opened his mouth to talk. “Listen, can you guys not just ask me all about this right now? 'Cause I don't really want to be late.”

“I agree,” Mauler said as he arrived at their level, “gossiping like old Dathomirian witches, the lot of you. Move along, gentlemen, you're standing in the way.”

With one more look thrown at Luke, Mauler, then Boomer and Vil, then all the others started to leave one after the other, to Luke's great relief. He was about to cross the threshold himself when Dark Curse, who was walking at his side, set a hand on his arm.

“You all right?” he asked.

Luke looked at him in surprise and smiled. “Yes, thanks, why?”

Dark Curse didn't immediately answer, but he glanced a little lower, his gaze thoughtful. Luke brought down the hand that was rubbing his neck, suddenly self-conscious.

“You've made a habit of that,” he remarked.

Luke looked away with a nervous laugh, feeling heat run to his cheeks. “I – I didn't even realise I was doing it...”

There was an awkward silence during which Luke looked around, trying to find a distraction, anything that could make for a better conversation topic than this.

“Lord Vader's the one who did it, right?”

Luke froze. “What?”

Dark Curse gestured to his throat.

“That time you came back to our quarters and you could barely speak, with marks on your neck. It was Lord Vader, wasn't it?”

Luke pressed his lips together, stubbornly looking down. Dark Curse gently squeezed his arm, but it didn't comfort him, and he retracted it. Dark Curse took a step back.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I overstepped. This is none of my business, I apologise. I just wanted to help.”

“Yes,” Luke blurted out, before looking Dark Curse in the eye again. “Yes, it was him. But it was a long time ago. I'm fine now, really.”

He sustained his squadmate's gaze without flinching. Dark Curse finally nodded.

“All right. Just remember... we're here if you need anything. Even if it's just talking.”

Luke smiled, dared relax a little for the first time.

“Thanks. Now I – I really need to go, I'm sorry.”

“Good luck,” Dark Curse simply answered.

Luke didn't wait any more time before leaving – fleeing from the conversation, really, for it was what he felt like doing.

He hadn't lied to Dark Curse, it was a long time ago and he was fine, but the memories of that moment were still sore and terrifying, and he didn't like thinking about it if he could avoid it. From time to time, he still had a nightmare about it: more than the pain or the inability to breathe, it was the helplessness that stayed with him, the fact that he was completely at Vader's mercy and could do nothing about it.

He must have been crazy to accept Vader's offer. If he wanted to avoid falling into that situation again, surely getting in a room alone with his commanding officer for several hours at a time wasn't the best way to go at it. But he found that the risk was worth it. His flying skills had expanded incredibly; he even started feeling the Force around him, around his squadmates, everywhere in the ship. It was like a glance into a brand new world; it was too exhilarating to pass up, even if he was putting his own life on the line for it. 

Challenging regulations, he launched into a jog to reach the sims room. As he had expected, Lord Vader was already there. He probed him in the Force as Luke entered, something the young man had started to interpret as a kind of wordless greeting. He threw a look at the clock: he was two minutes in advance.

“Come,” Vader gestured to him. “Before we start, I want you to perform a different exercise. Sit down on the deck.”

Luke hesitated for a fraction of a second, then obeyed, sitting not too close to Vader, his legs crossed. He felt even smaller than usual compared to the giant that was his commanding officer, and the sensation made him nervous.

“Set your hands on your knees, and close your eyes. Breathe in and out, reach out for the Force, connect with it.”

Luke complied, finding it a little difficult to relax at first with Vader towering just above him. Soon enough, however, he was swept in the familiar feeling of his respiration, lulled into regularity by the slow rhythm of Vader's own mechanical breath. He reached out with his sixth sense, a practice that had become easy to him, and felt the Force waiting for him at the tip of his ethereal fingers, warm and moving.

“Now scan your surroundings. Expand your perceptions.”

Without even thinking, Luke did as asked. He heard the hum of the machines and the electricity coursing in the wires, saw the lights on Vader's own suit flickering, coordinated in a complex process he couldn't begin to understand. But more prominent than anything else, he felt the life thrumming in the both of them and in the soldiers outside the door, linking them all.

“Wider still... Feel the entirety of the ship. Even beyond, if you can: the stars, the planet, the wildlife on it.”

Incredibly, Luke could perceive it all around him, like a flux of never-ending energy. He saw colours, and light, so much light, as if he was bathing in the sun.

He opened himself some more, and another presence made itself known to him, a powerful mass of swirling smoke. Instinctively, he knew it was Vader's; he reached out, curious. Vader's presence intertwined with his, tendrils of pure Force curling around his own, pulsating at the same time. Vader took the lead, guiding him in their exploration.

Luke sank deeper in this strange state. His heartbeat was the only physical thing he was still aware of, for it linked him to the expanding novas of their presences. Around him, everything was Force: he dove at the bottom of the ocean, soared at the highest point of the sky; he was caught in the burning mass of slowly boiling plasma exploding in a star or in a volcano.

Visions started to appear to him, twisting and whirling around him so fast his head was spinning. A thousand different futures and past mixed together, time having lost all of its meaning. He saw pain, and despair, and joy. He saw destinies unfurl and crash. He saw the start and the end of the universe, and the core of all power, of all life and death together. He saw himself as a small farmer or a radiant god, he screamed in torment and laughed in euphoria. He hurt, overwhelmed by the weight of knowledge.

The vision became more precise. He was lying on the cold floor, unable to move, feeling like fire had replaced the blood in his veins. He was being shouted at, but he couldn't respond, couldn't do anything but moan and beg as the agony flared up again...

Then as soon as it had started, it stopped. He was back in his body, panting, filled with an immense sense of dread. For an instant, all he could see was Lord Vader taking a threatening step towards him, towering over him in intimidation; then even this fleeting impression passed. He blinked and exhaled.

“Wow,” he breathed. “What – what was that?”

“The Force,” Vader answered. “Its true nature and might. That is the power you might one day wield.”

Luke looked down, shaking. He wasn't about to admit it, but the experience had been terrifying. The last vision remained etched into his body, the pain, the helplessness... What did it mean? Was it the future he had seen, or the past, or was it a warning, with some kind of deeper meaning? He didn't know. He felt as if his brain had been overloaded with so much information it couldn't treat it, and only the sense of pure awe remained in him. The Force truly was overwhelming...

But at the same time, despite how unbalancing and frightening his foray into its folds had been, Luke had felt... lured by it. Attracted. It wasn't everyday that one was faced with the deepest truth of the universe... He didn't quite know how yet, but he was confusedly aware it had changed him on some level.

“Now I believe you are here to learn how to fly.”

Luke didn't need to be told twice, and jumped on his feet, relieved to be back to something more normal. He slipped in the seat of the simulators, grounding himself by feeling the controls in his hands.

As usual, the simulation was extremely difficult. Luke gritted his teeth as he avoided his enemies, tried his best to keep his grasp on the Force. It seemed to constantly elude his efforts, as if his recent excursion so deep in it had unbalanced him, made him unable to reach out for it properly any more.

The smokey tendrils of Vader's presence laced with his again, showing him the way. Luke took his lead, and managed effortlessly to complete the exercise.

“Again,” Vader said.

The simulation started again, and this time Luke was alone as he sunk into the Force. Vader's presence was still near him, but he was satisfied to nudge him from time to time in the right direction, while Luke expanded his own tendrils into the intricacies of the program's code. He saw how the enemies were designed to react to his movements, noticed the patterns in their behaviour. An idea sprung to his mind, and he smiled. He was pretty sure this wasn't totally playing by the rules, but then, nobody had forbidden it to him either.

Using the Force, he closed his eyes, and went past the individualised avatars of his opponents to focus on the bigger picture. He went through the lines of code, seeking to understand the algorithm itself rather than its results. A close push at the right place, into the circuits of the machine itself, and all the enemy fighters exploded at the same time.

Luke opened his eyes, and couldn't repress a grin when he saw the numbers displayed on the dark screen. He hadn't even thought that score was possible to obtain.

“Good,” Vader said. “Very good.”

Luke didn't answer. Vader's hands were set on his shoulders, he had probably set them there during the simulation. The young man tensed involuntarily at the contact, but nothing happened. His probe on Vader's emotions read rather positive and contented, and so he managed to relax again, even leaning into the touch a little. The weight wasn't actually unpleasant; it even felt rather comforting.

However, the moment didn't last. As if he'd suddenly realised what he was doing, Vader took a step backwards, away from Luke. He stepped to the simulator's controls, typed in a few commands, and the second after Luke's score had disappeared.

“There is no need to keep in memory a score that would only lead to unwanted questions.”

Luke absently nodded. He looked at his commanding officer, still not certain how this situation had come about, or whether it wasn't just a strange dream. His hand was mechanically rubbing at his throat.

“I don't understand,” he said. “Why do you help me so?”

Vader's mask shot up, stared him in the eye for a moment during which Luke felt incredibly small.

“Do you regret coming to me for training?”

“No, not at all,” Luke hurried to answer. “It's just... I don't get it. I don't have anything special.”

Vader looked at him without moving, his shields up, so that Luke had no idea what he was thinking. His heart started beating faster, and he wondered if he had somehow said something he shouldn't have. He considered apologising and retracting his question; he dearly hoped whatever insolence he had committed this time wouldn't be punished. But Vader didn't do anything, didn't lash out in anger, and remained watching him, masked slightly tilted.

“Don't you feel it, young one?” he finally said, slowly, his voice impossibly low. “Our fates are linked. Your destiny lies with me.”

A shiver ran through Luke; of fear, anticipation, or helplessness, he couldn't say. All he knew was the truth of these words resonating in the Force in an all too final way.

Unable to speak, he silently stood there, uncertain of what the future would bring. He looked his commanding officer in the eye, who was just as unmoving, just as awkward as him in the uneasy quiet that had settled between them. He offered a shaky smile, feeling for the first time the premises of a deeper understanding grow between them.


	17. Rise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last I'm done with exaaaams!!! :D I haven't been able to write a word in a month, but now I finally managed to finish the chapter. And since it's holidays, I'll try - try being the most important word here - to update a little more often.
> 
> In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this!

“You have your orders. Good luck.”

The officers hurried away, saluting him on the way out. For once Vader didn't leave the room first. In a few moments he would go and prepare himself, ready his ship and make his pre-flight checks. But another pressing matter had taken hold of his mind. And as had become usual, what troubled him was related to the boy.

He closed his eyes and listened to his breathing, focusing on the regular sound as he reached for the Force. He was distracted lately; the boy had grown to take too much place in his thoughts. Perhaps it had been a mistake to mix teaching with preparation of the attack. Even now, when he should be concentrating on the assault, he kept remembering the training session that had progressed so well, and the unpredicted developments it had brought.

He hadn't expected him to dive in the Force like he had done, so quickly, with such ease. His potential never ceased to amaze him, but today, that wasn't what disquieted him.

The vision was.

He put both hands on the table and leaned on them, trying to remember it. The images were fuzzy and vague, and he couldn't perceive which kind of event they pictured. He didn't even know if it was the past, the future, or an alternate possibility. It had been a vision of darkness and pain, that much he knew; he didn't care to find out anything more.

What stayed with him, however, was the feeling it had awakened in him. This sense of warmth and connection as he moved through the Force, entwined with the sun of his young student's presence. This _belonging_ , that he hadn't experienced in long and lonely years, and certainty their destinies did indeed lie together.

In spite of himself, his mind travelled back in time... wondering about a better life. Would his unborn child have been so gifted? Would it have accepted his presence so readily? He had no doubt about that. They would have explored the depths of the Force together since its first years; they would know each other nearly as well as one knew oneself. The child would have possessed Padmé's essence as well as his own, would have felt just as bright, just as familiar as his current student did.

He closed his fists. Lars would never replace the child dead by his hand. That he was certain of. He was just a pilot, a foolish and hot-headed boy, a mere tool for him to mould and use. He would dispose of him as soon as he no longer needed him – or give him to the Emperor, maybe, as an offering of goodwill. His master would appreciate his raw power.

And in the meantime he had Rebels to weed out. He wondered if Lars' progresses would show in a real flying environment...

He stormed out of the room, his temper even fouler than before.

*******

The sight of Praadost II before them was familiar, more than Luke would have expected from one single battle there. He and his squad flew in formation around the transport of their ground team. Inside that ship sat a couple of stormtroopers, who would explore the planet for sign of Rebels while they protected them from above. Luke had taken Chaser's place, alone, without a wingman. At the forefront flew Vader, flanked by Mauler. Behind them, a couple other squadrons followed, to offer a second line of protection.

They flew down, looking out for the Praadosian ships they knew would try to impede the mission. All they saw below them was the moving clouds and the jungle. 

They came closer, headed to their landing point, a small clearing they had localised for its lack of thick vegetation. Still they were alone, no sound around them but the commlink communication. Luke hoped they had taken the locals by surprise, and they would be able to reach their destination before they reacted.

That hope died when a small force of ships appeared on their scopes.

“Black Squadron in Cherek formation,” Darth Vader said through the comm. “Transport, initiate descent.”

They placed themselves in front of the transport, a shield between her and the incoming fighters. The enemy was arriving in sighting range now: a flock of Nimbus fighters and old Nubian N-1s. They rushed towards them with a flurry of shooting.

Luke dodged the bolts coming at him and fired back at the ship. They engaged in dogfight. The fighter was not nearly at fast as Luke; the young man pushed it away from the protected area with ease.

“Transport landed,” said the ground troop commander, a woman in her thirties. “The troops are disembarking.”

“All ships cover area Aurek-1-1,” Vader ordered.

Luke shot a last time at his opponent, who crashed down in the vegetation, then opened up to the Force. Feeling where his squadmates were, he headed towards a less protected space. An enemy was trying to profit from the opening; Luke caught it before it could.

The pilot was good; they flew in circles, evading the other's fire, neither of them able to get a hit at the other. Luke gritted his teeth, prepared to ask his wing mate to catch the ship... before remembering he was alone. He had to do this on his own.

Ignoring the pang in his heart, he sunk deeper into the Force, closed his eyes, and shot. The enemy spiralled out of control, its wing destroyed. Luke bit back a curse: it fell down towards the protected area, on their men below. He rushed at it and fired repeatedly. The ship exploded in pieces before the pilot had time to eject, and pieces of durasteel got caught in the branches of the vegetation. Luke narrowly pulled out of the explosion.

“Probes sent, Aurek 1-1 covered,” the ground leader announced. “Moving towards Xesh sector. Radars have noticed suspicious activity there.”

On Vader's order, the squadron moved again to protect said area. They expanded and formed a circle around it, a barrier to prevent other ships from entering.

Three Praadosian ships came at Dark Curse and Cosmo. Luke got closer to his squad mates.

“Black Six and Seven,” he said, “do you require assistance?”

“Appreciated, Five,” Dark Curse answered.

Luke joined the dance, the two trios of pilots drawing closer and further to gain an opening. His eyes half-closed, he relied more on the Force than on his sight. He dodged an enemy's fire, shot down the ship threatening Dark Curse. He then teamed up with him and got closer to Cosmo, Luke's opponent still on their tails.

The Praadosian took a shot, and Cosmo evaded it, a hair away from being hit. Luke's blood froze in his veins. He gritted his teeth, rushed full throttle towards them.

He wouldn't let them take anyone else today.

“Five, watch out,” Dark Curse warned, “you still have –“

Luke did a barrel roll to avoid the fire coming his way. He charged at Cosmo's enemy and pulled up, taking another shot at his own pursuer. Both Praadosians caught up in flames.

A whistle sounded in the comm.

“Impressive, but _I was right there_ , let's take it together next time!”

“Sorry, Six,” Luke answered.

He didn't have time to think more about it. Another couple of ships had taken advantage of the hole their fight had left in their defence. They were shooting down blindly, where their troopers would be.

“Two ships in protected area. Six and Seven, ready to tackle them?”

They agreed, and Luke took the lead as they flew towards the Praadosians.

“Six and Seven, take the one at 340-0, I'll cover for you,” he said.

“Roger, Five.”

Luke forked on the right while his squadmates took the fighter on the left. Keeping a Force tendril focused on their activity, he engaged it. Immediately the enemy focused on him rather than on the ground. Luke shot at him and flew up, the other following him. With a few well-placed shots, he pushed it next to its comrade, the both of them surrounded by Dark Curse, Cosmo and him.

“Break-break, all fighters! Enemy incoming from space!”

Luke hit one of the Praadosians' left wing. The ship whirled out of control to crash into the other one in a bright explosion.

Descending from the sky was a whole force of snub fighters that Luke didn't recognise. They honed in on the already-tired Imperials, an overwhelming new wave of opponents. Reinforcements, Luke thought. They must have broken through the line of defence set up on the level of _Devastator_. Immediately, the outer line of Imperial fighters came to block their way; but some of them came through.

Well, here started the fight.

“Wraith and Ebon Squadron, on the first line. Black Squadron, draw closer to the protected area,” Vader ordered.

Gripping his controls tighter, Luke accelerated towards an enemy ship that had crossed the first line of protection. Immediately a second came at him. Luke twisted and twirled, and finally managed to escape their grasp; but that didn't mean he could rest.

Around him, the battle was a blur of green and red blaster bolts, of ships bolting left and right, high and low. His scopes were full of moving dots, the comm buzzing with comments, and it was difficult to know at each point in time where the rest of his squad was.

He took a deep breath, submerged himself in the Force. His consciousness expanded, in a way that had become familiar. He dove, and a shot went through where he was half a second ago.

The battle became all at once less and more confusing. Luke had no idea what was happening, but he rose, plunged, twirled, barrelled, fired, each of his bolts finding their target. He didn't perceive individual ships any longer. There was but the currents of movements, the trajectories of the pilots, a deep sea where he inserted himself without effort.

A cold shiver ran through his spine, and another presence flared around him, seeking him out. Luke connected with it with a smile of recognition. He didn't think Lord Vader's movement was intentional, it felt more like an instinctive gesture. Still, he accepted the immaterial hand he was offering. He reached out with his own bright tendrils, wrapping around and shining through Vader's smokey curls.

He relied on the connection and used it to delve even deeper in the Force. He kept his eyes closed now, and found he perceived the thrill of battle better that way. He saw the ships around him, felt the pilots that were firing at him. He was conscious of the bigger picture around him, as well: the first circle, his own squad, still grappling with Praadosian forces; the outer layers, struggling to contain the invaders. He let the Force guide him, push him where he most needed to be, in the nexus of all these ships' trajectories. Pilots were living and dying, little points of life imploding, disappearing, sometimes at his own hand.

He felt it a little more than the others, but he couldn't know if it was because he was closer in space, or because he was a member of his squad.

He only realised when he heard Vader's voice through the comm.

_Lars, at my side._

_Yes, sir,_ he answered before obeying.

As he had thought, Mauler was no longer covering for Vader. He didn't let himself think of that, slid in next to his commanding officer instead.

Flying as Vader's wingman was unlike anything he had ever experienced. Never, not even with Biggs, had he ever felt this in tune with the other. They had the same pace, the same style, and Luke could predict his next moves as easily as if he had decided them himself. He supposed it had to be related to the Force bathing them both; but there was something more, too.

“My lord, we have found the Rebel project,” the stormtroopers commander said. “A huge complex of caves, full of – of war refugees.”

Vader looped, took out an enemy ship.

“Elaborate, Commander.”

“Families of civilians, sir, from their appearances. They look poor and lost; there are a few aliens and outlanders. None of them seem like warriors. Though the place was well-protected, I do not think they are dangerous.”

“How many?”

“A few hundreds, my lord.”

There was a tense silence. Luke moved aside from Vader, shot at an opponent, who dodged and lost its advantage.

“Destroy the caves,” Vader finally ordered. “We cannot afford to take any risks in this.”

The commander paused, then gave an uneasy answer.

“Yes, my lord.”

The channel closed. Luke had already forgotten these words. Still they fought, still ships flew and fell. Time seemed to have lost its meaning; had they been at it forever? He didn't know. A pressure started building in his head, a deep tiredness and weariness.

He snapped out of it when Vader's presence sharply pulled on his.

_Stay in the moment._

Luke blinked, took a trembling breath, and sent a wordless thank you to his commanding officer. The depths of the Force were attractive, and it was easy to get lost in them. He would pay more attention from now on.

“My lord, we've reached the transport,” a male voice said. “Commander Mavron defected and joined the Rebels' side. It is unknown what became of her and the other occupants once the caves were blown up.”

“Acknowledged, soldier. Prepare for departure, but do not take off before my signal.”

“Yes, sir.”

The battle was starting to abate. The Imperials were the strongest force, and both Praadosians and their reinforcements were beginning to retreat.

Vader gave the order for the transport to depart as soon as a path became clear for them. The squadron took their place around her like they had in the descent, and escorted her back up. They made their way to _Devastator_ without a problem, a few last ships taking a shot at it before either giving up or being blown up by the Imperials. After what felt like ages, they finally landed on the deck.

Luke's world was spinning when he stepped foot on the deck. He took off his helmet, focused on a stable point forward, forced himself to take long breaths, and felt a little better.

He and the squadron gathered together, exchanging looks and assessing the state of those who had come back. They wore an expression of grave worry on their faces that Luke was starting to find familiar. Mauler, as he had expected, never joined them, but all the others of the squad brought their ships to the rack and climbed down from their fighter. Luke let out a sigh of relief.

His stomach lurched again when Darth Vader headed towards them.

“Ensign Lars, you are now to take Commander Mithel's place as my wingman when in battle,” he said. “Lieutenant Gufrai, you are to assume his other duties.”

Dark Curse inclined his head, but nobody said a word. Vader hesitated for the briefest moment, and Luke wondered if he was trying to find words of condolence, or praise for his fallen wingman. Before he could reach a conclusion, Vader turned on his heels and left, his cape waving behind him.

A pregnant silence followed, heavy and questioning. Luke felt his squadmates' gazes on him, nearly heard the questions on their minds.

“ _... Darth Vader's wingman?_ ”

Luke winced upon hearing the disbelief in Qorl's voice.

“Yeah, I have no idea how that happened either, I –“

“First the flying lessons, now this...” Boomer started.

“Not here,” Dark Curse chimed in. “Let's go back to the squadron quarters.”

His face fell. “We should honour our second-in-command properly.”

All pilots' faces adopted the same serious expression as his. A stone dropped in Luke's stomach at the reminder that one more casualty had befallen them that day. He looked at his squadmates, and realised that he could not be certain any of them would even live to see the next day. Not even him; but with the Force on his side, he supposed his chances of survival were slightly better than anyone else's. The thought was not as comforting as he thought it would be.

Before long, they were back in the squadron's main room. They sat together in the couches, in silence at first. Vil was the first to speak up, to remember a detail of the first time he had met Mauler in training. Then others took their turn, talking about his leadership skills, the way he struck inspiration in them, but also his more demanding sides.

Luke stayed quiet the whole time. He listened to the others, sketching an occasional wistful smile when the story brought up memories in him, but he never spoke himself. What could he say that could be relevant? He had never been good with words. He had never known how to express this kind of tightness in his chest.

He had hardly known Mauler. The man had been his superior of a sort, and they had only ever spoken when performing an exercise. But the thought that he was gone and wouldn't come back was a sobering one.

It occurred to him with no small amount of guilt that the squadron must have done this before, for Chaser, and Backstabber before. Every time, he had missed it.

At last silence fell again. No more stories were exchanged. No more were needed, either, as they shared a moment of common remembrance.

“Remembering him is good,” Qorl said after a minute. “But he would want us to keep fighting. That is how we will best honour him. I raise my glass to Mauler, to the Empire, and to victory, that he so often offered us.”

The others imitated him, with concurring murmurs of “to Mauler, to the Empire, to victory.” 

Then they drank, and, after another silence, the conversation started again. Silver got up to fetch his datapad, claiming that he had to work on some paperwork, and Boomer left to prepare a briefing report. Soon everything was back to normal again, only the faintest trace of heaviness remaining in the room.

Luke was wondering whether or not to complete his own duties, and was contemplating checking in early, perhaps after some exercises Lord Vader had called “meditation,” when Vil dropped down next to him.

“So,” he said. “How did you manage to end up as Lord Vader's wingman before reaching your twentieth birthday, I'm curious.”

Luke huffed with a joyless smile, feigning nonchalance, and pretending not to notice than half the squadron has started listening. Of course, he should have known better than to think his squadmates would let it go.

“I'm as much in the dark as you are,” he said. “I've got no idea why he chose me.”

“But he's been teaching you,” Vil insisted. “He never mentioned it? Ever?”

“No,” Luke answered, a little irritated. “Why would he? I told you, I don't know how this happened.”

He looked down at his half-full glass.

“Lord Vader is... unpredictable.”

Vil snorted.

“Tell me about it.”

“But the flying lessons,” Boomer said. “No offence, but you fly like nobody's business. It seems kind of pointless. Unless he was tutoring you for some other position...”

Luke's stomach twisted. He couldn't tell anyone about the Force; they'd just believe him nuts. At the same time, maybe Boomer had a point. Vader had told him about... what was it even about? He didn't remember. But it seemed important, different than what would be expected from a mere pilot.

He shrugged, unwilling to talk further about it.

“Oh, come on,” Boomer said. “Was he?”

“No,” Luke snapped. “No, he didn't talk about any of this. Kreth, a few weeks ago he nearly broke my neck. I have _no idea_ what the guy wants with me. It peeves me out a little sometimes, okay? But I also know he's my commanding officer, and I've learnt the hard way what he does to people who don't obey him. If you like breathing I'd advise you stop questioning him.”

He took a rocky breath, tried to ignore the stunned looks the others gave him.

“All right!” Boomer answered, throwing his hands in the air. “All right.”

They changed the subject, to Luke's great relief; but at first he didn't try to join in. Something was bothering him... something about the battle, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He thought about it for a few minutes, then shrugged and gulped down the rest of his glass. 

It probably didn't matter all that much anyway. He reported his attention on the other pilots, and joined the game of Pazaak that they were about to start.

Only much later, as he was brushing his teeth before going to bed, did Luke realise what had troubled him with a pang in his chest.

The Rebels' secret project... what they had fought so hard to protect... was a hideout for _refugees_. Civilians whose life had been disrupted by the war, innocents who probably sought nothing more than peace and stability. And they had destroyed it – they had killed these people, whose only crime had been to have everything taken away from them.

Luke closed his eyes, fought against the guilt churning in his guts, Biggs' judging face watching him with his lips pinched, like every time they hadn't agreed at the Academy.

No. They shouldn't have associated with Rebels in the first place; surely they had known that was dangerous. War required sacrifices. Who knew if the camp wasn't a cover for more nefarious activities? He wouldn't have put it past them. They couldn't take this kind of risks. People who put themselves into the line of fire knew what they were exposing themselves to.

Luke took deep breaths. When they had crushed the Rebellion... when there was peace again, this would stop. There would be no more destroying fights to force people away from their homes and families. He was fighting for all this to stop.

Sleep took a long time to find him that night.

*******

Darth Vader sat in his quarters, meditating. His mind kept being attracted to the boy falling asleep a few rooms away from him, his presence pulsing and flaring as he slowly sank into the depths of slumber. Reaching out to him had become easy and natural, due to the bond that had formed between them.

Vader couldn't fathom it. He hadn't started formal training with him yet. But there was no denying it, not when they had communicated with such ease through the Force during the battle.

He reached out and let the wisps of his presence twirl around the boy's, helping him into sleep. He kept watching him, soothed by the regular beat of light.

He would make a good wingman. He was still angry to have lost Mithel, whose experience and dedication he would greatly miss. But the boy possessed the Force, and that made him invaluable.

If only he could have him as an apprentice, and teach him the mysteries of the dark side of the Force... he had such potential, it seemed a waste to let him wallow as a mere pilot. Vader longed to teach him, really teach him, show him everything he knew. He had no doubt the boy would take up all his instructions easily. They would grow so strong together, their power letting them achieve anything; even...

Even overthrowing his own master.

Vader frowned, wondering where the thought had come from. Sidious was knowledgeable, and he still had a great deal to learn from him. He had no interest in ruling. Palpatine, as a politician, would always be a much better choice at the head of the galaxy. And he was all he had left...

Or maybe that was no longer completely true, Vader thought, watching the boy's mind as he dreamt.

For a moment he let himself entertain the thought. To be free, to no longer have to answer to his master's every desire... Vader imagined himself plunging his lightsabre into his heart, and was surprised by the intensity of the hatred that accompanied the thought.

No. That wasn't right. He couldn't. Palpatine was his friend and his mentor. He owed him his life... But what life had become his, in pain every hour of his life, trapped in this suit that made him more machine than man?

He violently shunned the thought. Through their bond he felt the boy stir, and he cut himself from him. 

Was this why his master had allowed him to train him? Was this a test of his loyalty? He knew treachery was the way of the Sith. Was Sidious goading him into betraying him?

Oh, how he hated these mind games. He loathed always having to guess what was on his master's mind; never a clear answer, never a straightforward word. He was so tired of it.

And he had a clear way out of it now.

Once again he repressed the thought. That wasn't right. Above all, he couldn't allow his master to know he was having such treacherous ideas.

It was his own fault, not his master's. He was the one who had killed his wife in anger. He had offered her the galaxy, and she had refused him, deceived by Obi-Wan's lies. She had thrown it all away. And he would offer it anew to this stranger, this nobody, just because he happened to be there and strong with the Force? He would risk it all, deny all his choices and his sacrifices, for the sake of his young upstart?

No. It was his burden to bear, and his alone.

And if the boy was the one prompting such temptations, he had to take distance from him. Already he could feel himself change, mellow at the contact of him. He couldn't afford such a weakness.

He forced himself to ignore the bright light of the boy's presence, whose tendrils reached out to him by instinct, drawn by their bond.

He was Darth Vader, Dark Lord of the Sith. It was his destiny, and he had long accepted it.


	18. Doubts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey hey! This is a little later than I hoped but it's still earlier than usual, right? :3 Excellent week, this week: the European Parliament rejected the terrible proposal for a new law on copyright. So have this chapter in celebration! I hope you enjoy it! :D

Luke breathed in and out, ignoring his screaming muscles. He focused on the rhythmical movement, counting seconds in his head. A bead of sweat ran down his temple, then his cheek.

Finally, the timer rang, and the machine slowed down, letting Luke bring down his pace with relief. He had neglected his condition lately, and he felt it. Pushing himself farther instead of rebuilding his stamina gradually in a couple more days probably wasn't the healthiest, but he didn't care. The effort, though not pleasant, made him feel good. Alive.

He wished he had a Force-lesson planned soon. Unfortunately, he hadn't seen Lord Vader once in the last days, or just in passing, quickly in a corridor.

He put a foot down the treadmill, then a second, still taking deep breaths. His face was hot, his lungs burning, and sitting down was a relief. He dried his face with his towel, roughly ran the cloth through his short hair before letting it fall on his shoulders, resting his head against the wall as he waited for his heartbeat to slow down.

He closed his eyes and reached out with the Force, feeling the presences on the ship in their flow of activity, and the energy swirling around them in constant movement, tying them together. For once, Lord Vader's twirls of smoke didn't come to meet his own presence, and Luke found himself missing the cold shiver that ran down his spine each time he came into contact with him.

This was stupid. He shouldn't care so much about his commanding officer's approval. A mere few weeks ago he wanted nothing more than for Vader to leave him alone like he was doing now. Maybe he had finally realised that Luke was nothing more than a small pilot from the Outer Rim, with good reflexes perhaps, but nothing extraordinary. It was much safer for Luke to remain under the radar, rather than have Vader pry into his history.

And yet was his safety worth the tremendous improvement that Vader's lessons had brought him? Luke had felt his perceptions grow, his awareness of the battlefield increase exponentially. He was more efficient in flight, much better at avoiding and taking down enemies. Was it right for him to stop pursuing these new skills, that – if Vader was to be trusted – were rare in the Navy, and forsake this occasion to become the best pilot he could to defend the Empire, just because his commanding officer was dangerous?

It was incomprehensible. Vader made him his wingman, then all but ignored him. It just didn't make any sense.

He rose up with a rush of irritation. It didn't matter. He had other things to do, anyway: reports to write, research to make, training sessions to attend. The most important was that he keep fighting.

He shun the uncomfortable churning of his stomach at the memory of the trooper's voice telling Vader about the refugees, and Vader's own cold orders to destroy their hideout. He was but a soldier. He didn't see the bigger picture. He didn't know what tactical benefits this decision might have reaped, what other lives it might have saved.

This was why the war needed to end.

He sighed, trying to alleviate the pressure in his chest, and checked the time. In a couple of minutes he had a training session planned in the sims; their first without Mauler.

Another blow was struck in his lungs, and he exhaled once more. He exited the gym and went back to his quarters, hoping a cold shower would clear his head a little.

He was feeling a little fresher by the time he walked into the familiar sims room. The whole squad was already present when he arrived; he took place around the console as discreetly as he could, relieved when none of the other pilots said a word. A little further, Dark Curse was talking with Lt. Tanbris, their voices so low Luke couldn't make out what they were saying. The silence, despite their whispers and the buzzing of the machines, was oppressing, and Luke couldn't wait until they started.

Finally Dark Curse finished his conversation with Lt. Tanbris, who exited the room after a greeting glance in their direction. Dark Curse came to face the rest of the squad. For a moment, he merely looked at them, one after the other. His gaze was serious, his mouth slightly open, as if he was searching for words but couldn't find them.

“In order not to break with tradition,” he finally said, “I have prepared a special exercise that will push you all to your limits and make you feel out of place in a cockpit, then we'll review together what went wrong – and why you were as usual utterly destroyed by the program.”

There were a few fond laughs, and Dark Curse smiled, visibly relaxing.

“What I most want to work on during this session is adaptability, and what to do when an unexpected development – such as enemy reinforcements incoming – arrives. I particularly want to see how you fare outnumbered. We are usually the ones outnumbering the enemies, but it's better to be prepared.”

He then proceeded to expose the specifics of the exercise, what they would be expected to pay attention to, what enemies they would face. Luke did his best to focus on Dark Curse's voice, not on the strange sensation that was having him there instead of Vader's former wingman, nor the feeling of something missing.

Once he had finished, they were separated then sent into the sims. Luke's lips formed a wistful smile. It was all so familiar, the controls, the chair, the black screen in front of him. But it couldn't have been more than two weeks...

Well, anyway, this was an occasion like another. Force practice wouldn't do him any harm. He closed his eyes with a deep breath and expanded his perceptions like Vader had taught him as the numbers went down.

He didn't open them as the virtual ships were launched into space. Their shapes were less distinct than physical, human fighters on the battlefield, but the clusters of numbers were more predictable. The flow of electricity was buzzing in his ears, his feelings focused on the delicate thing that was the algorithm. Next to him, he could feel his squadmates' presences, unmoving but concentrated, a kind of repressed energy swirling around them, entirely focused on the machine.

Luke smiled, elated at discovering so many details he hadn't noticed the last time he had been here with his colleagues. Lord Vader would be proud...

Except Lord Vader didn't seem to care, and beside, this wasn't the moment.

He could nearly hear the ghost of his commanding officer's voice in his ear as he sunk deeper into the Force. It was much easier to do than he had expected, the motions easy and well-known, the sensations recognisable. He stopped thinking and stayed in the present, twisting in the virtual space, avoiding enemies and sneaking behind them before even realising what he was doing. He was on autopilot, but it was much more efficient than when he had the commands. Time seemed to stop, meaningless in the flow of the Force. 

Then it stopped. Luke blinked, taken aback and disoriented. Coming back to the physical plane always was the hardest part. He had the impression that the exercise hadn't lasted a minute... Without throwing a look at the screen, he came out of the makeshift cockpit.

He came to stand around the console again. The silence was deafening. Was that because of the constant background noise the simulators made through the Force?

One by one, the other pilots exited their own sims in turn. Their faces all bore the same kind of vaguely incredulous stupor. Luke realised they were looking at him, and shifted on his feet.

Dark Curse was still at the same place in front of them. He cleared his throat before speaking. 

“If you have anything to say before we watch the sequence and see what we can improve, go ahead.”

More silence followed. Luke started to feel uncomfortable.

“Well, uh,” Silver bravely started, as the others' lips remained sealed. “You chose your program well, Dark Curse – we were in bad posture from the beginning...”

“Except Shooting Star,” said Torpedo.

Luke's heart picked up. The other squad members looked all embarrassed or in agreement with Torpedo, most of them a little of the two. The cat was out of the bag; Luke knew Torpedo had merely been saying what all the others thought.

“ _Flying lessons,_ sure,” added Hammer, eyes wide open. “That was madness!”

“Uh... really?” Luke mumbled. Frantic thoughts were flashing in his mind as he searched for a believable explanation and found none. They'd think of him as a freak...

“Gentlemen, please,” intervened Dark Curse. A pang went to Luke's heart hearing the familiar address in his mouth. “This isn't a settling of scores. If you don't have anything else to say?”

He turned on the holoprojector. Points started to move on the translucid sphere, and Luke gaped when he saw them.

“Is that... me?” he asked, pointing to one of the dots. It was moving much more fluidly than the others, always in the right place. It was somehow making it seem as if the other ships were all dancing around it.

The others all nodded. Luke laughed, disoriented, still staring at the graceful dot. It was impossible...

“How?”

“You tell us, kid,” Boomer said. He was half-smiling, but Luke could read the same astonishment in his eyes as in all the others; even his, he suspected.

“Guys, _please,_ focus,” Dark Curse snapped. “This isn't constructive at all. Can we just get back to the exercise?”

So they reported their attention on the recording, and tried to spot their mistakes and the points they could improve. Dark Curse did the best he could to help them find answers, to think with them; but they were all rather distracted, and in the end he cut the session short.

They exited the room a little stunned.

“Dark Curse is good, but it's still strange to have these sessions without Mauler,” Vil remarked. “Like there's something missing.”

Next to him, Boomer, Cosmo and Silver acquiesced, their faces sad. Luke nodded, too.

A hand took his shoulder and pulled him behind, forcing him to halt his step.

“Hey, Shooting Star,” Hammer told him. “Are you ever gonna tell us what in the nine hells Lord Vader is teaching you?”

“Yeah, that was unbelievable,” Torpedo added.

Luke sighed. The other members of the squad didn't say anything, but they were all watching him. There was no getting out of it now. But they didn't have the Force, Luke couldn't teach it to them, and so what could he tell them?

“I told you,” he wearily answered. “Flying. That's all there is to it.”

“No way,” Torpedo retorted. “That's not _just_ flying. Nobody flies like you do.”

“Lord Vader does,” Luke quipped.

“Yes, but it's... it's Lord Vader! You're too fast, too sure of yourself. It's like you know exactly what's happening before it happens.”

Luke let out a humourless laugh.

“What do you want me to answer to that? Do you realise how insane it sounds? I'm not some kind of psychic. I just do the best I can same as everybody!”

The others seemed to relent, but Qorl was still watching Luke with obvious doubt in his eyes.

“If “doing your best” gives such results, you should share with us how you do it, you know.”

Luke felt as if he'd just entered a cold shower.

“I keep repeating it to you – there's _no_ trick! I can't share anything with you because I don't know how I do it!”

“Yeah right,” Qorl retorted. “We've just lost a squadmate, Lars! Pilots keep dying in this bloody war! We need every advantage we can have!”

Luke crossed his arms and sent him a glare. He was growing fed up with Qorl's constant antagonistic attitude. He no longer wanted to put up with it.

“And you don't think that if Lord Vader had some kind of secret recipe for this, he would have told you himself? You really think I'd keep something like that to myself if I thought it could help you, help us?”

Qorl met his glare head on.

“Yeah, I do. I don't trust you.”

Luke snorted.

“Big news, you've made that clear. But too bad, because there's no magic trick for what I do! Believe me, I wish there were. I'd gladly give it to you if there was. We're in this together! I don't like losing squadmates any more than you do! If I could stop people from getting shot, I'd do it, a thousand times over, but I can't, all right, I _can't!_ ”

A hand settled on his shoulder, and he realised his fists were closed so tight they were shaking.

“Whoa, easy there,” Silver said. “Calm down.”

Luke took a deep breath, trying to bring air in his lungs through his closed throat. His chest was incredibly tight, and his eyes were prickling, but he gritted his teeth, determined not to break down. He swallowed, felt more in control.

“This is useless,” Silver continued, looking at all of them. “Mauler would be ashamed of us.”

Luke bit his lip in embarrassment. Silver squeezed his shoulder, then stepped back towards their squadmates. Around him, the others bore the same kind of emotion; even Qorl sobered. Some of them mumbled apologies; Vil threw him a questioning glance, to which Luke answered with a small smile.

Qorl threw him a last glare, which Luke returned, but he didn't say anything else. He walked away in the direction of their quarters, followed by Hammer and Torpedo. Vil, Boomer, Silver and Cosmo stayed, watching him in expectancy.

“Go ahead,” Luke said. “I think I need to have a walk before coming back.”

“Don't stray too late in the corridors,” Boomer advised him. “Higher officers don't like it when we wander aimlessly.”

Luke smiled.

“Don't worry, I'll be careful.”

They threw him a last glance, then walked away, catching up with the others. Luke breathed in once more to ground himself, then left in the opposite direction.

He did his best to look confident and purposeful as he walked, though in reality he let his steps lead him wherever they would. The movement and the rhythm did him good, but the endless grey of the corridors made him feel trapped, inside the ship, inside his mind. For the first time, it dawned upon him that he was stuck on the giant metal ship, without any means to leave. The feeling was familiar to what he had experienced on Tatooine in his youth...

Finally he arrived at a small alcove in the hull, in which a viewport was set. Luke still didn't know what was its purpose, nor what engineering oddity had warranted it being placed there. But it was quiet, and small, and nobody usually came here, so it suited him perfectly. It had become his go-to place whenever he felt down, or overwhelmed by the life on the ship. He stopped by it and stood in front of the stars, his hand brushing against the transparisteel as he watched the constellations.

He had been here before – when Chaser died, when he first asked Vader to teach him the Force.

He tried to find out his home planet among all the spots of light outside, but in vain. It was too far from here to be able to see it...

He missed his aunt and uncle. He wondered how they were faring, on the farm, taken in the peaceful everyday tasks. He hoped the crops had been good, and Uncle Owen had been able to hire some helping hands for the capricious vaporators. He smiled, thinking of the days he spent hours working on them under the heat of the twins suns, cursing against these machines when they wouldn't work. Sometimes Uncle Owen would join him, and they would ponder how to fix it together – Luke was usually the one to figure it out, though. Then they would get back into the home, where Aunt Beru was waiting for them with a fresh glass of blue milk.

It was a simple life, and never had Luke appreciated it as he did now, in retrospect. Not that he didn't love his current occupation; flying among the stars had always been his dream, and he didn't regret it for anything in the world. But in this moment, this minute, he craved the normality of his old existence. 

Of course, living so close to the Wastes wasn't exactly restful. Luke had seen death on Tatooine, had had to fight against it and deal with it. But never had it felt so close, so omnipresent, and so unavoidable, as it has been since his posting on Black Squadron.

He closed his eyes, let the tendrils of his Force presence expand and brush the others on the battleship. How many of them would survive the next battle? How many would be lost in the slaughter, perish for the glory of the Empire? How many lives ground down by the cruelty of war?

Who would be next in his own squad to burn in a burst of flames?

And why couldn't Luke do anything about it? He had the Force, which guided him and drove enemy's fire away from him. Why couldn't he give it to his squadmates? Why couldn't he be of help?

He needed to get stronger. He needed to master it, so that he could save his squadmates' lives with it. It was of no use if he couldn't do that. And there was only one way to achieve it.

Luke closed his fists, took a deep breath, then exhaled it just as soon. He turned away from the viewport and strode back, trying not to think too much.

Old fears and unpleasant memories came back as he arrived in front of Vader's door. He breathed through the nose, forced himself not to rub his throat. Who knew what Vader was doing and at what time? Perhaps he wasn't even in his quarters...

A cold shiver and a curl of smoke reaching out towards his limbs as a question quashed any hope he might have had. Vader had sensed him. Luke wiped his hands against his trousers, then took a step and rose a trembling hand towards the intercom.

The door slid open before he even brushed the button, and he jumped, his heart beating frantically in his ears. He swallowed and crossed the threshold.

Vader's quarters hadn't changed at all since he last came: dark, simplistic, with the strange round cabin in the corner. The latter was currently open on a white environment, against which Vader's black form starkly stood out. He sat there facing Luke, his mask perfectly concealing his emotions. The young pilot took two steps forward, then stopped and stood as attention, his legs wobbly, his mouth dry.

“Speak out, Ensign. My time isn't unlimited.”

Luke swallowed. Coming here was a bad idea; he could feel the danger thrilling through his bones.

“I – my lord, I wanted to know if, if you'd accept to continue the piloting lessons...”

“You need no more of them,” Vader cut him off. “You are dismissed.”

“What?” Luke weakly said. He didn't understand. “What do you mean, I need no more of them?”

Vader rose up, and Luke started once more.

“I mean exactly what I said. Unless you cannot understand Basic?”

“But – sir... we've only just begun – I still have so much to learn!”

Vader took a step forward, and Luke couldn't help but move back in response.

“You are _dismissed._ ”

He raised his hand, and Luke's heart stopped when he thought he felt the slightest pressure on the base of his throat. This was it... this was where it ended...

_… he couldn't breathe... Vader's fingers squeezed his throat and it hurt... his vision was covered in black dots, and he couldn't escape it... he couldn't breathe..._

Then Vader's hand fell, and he curtly turned away from Luke, his cape twirling behind him. The young man couldn't move. Waves of heat and coldness crashed over him, relief and terror mixed together. That had been so close...

He should run away from here. He should turn back and leave as fast as his legs could carry him. But instead he remained frozen in place.

“My squadmates – sir – they need me. I need more training to protect them...”

Vader froze, and Luke deeply regretted the words that had just come out of his mouth. _Oh kriff, no, no..._

Eyes wide, feeling like he could throw up at any moment, he watched Vader slowly turn back to face him. The eyes of his mask were cast in shadows, two pools of impenetrable darkness, seeming to suck Luke's gaze in them as he advanced towards him.

“Leave. _Now._ ”

This time Luke didn't need to be told twice. He moved back, one step, then another, until he found himself in the corridor, the door closing in front of him.

He turned back and walked blindly forward, his whole body shaking. He wasn't even sure he was walking straight.

Little by little, the tremors subsided, and his breath calmed down. His heart found back its normal rhythm, and he found he could think more coherent thoughts again as his panic subsided.

He gritted his teeth, thinking on the scene again. He hadn't deserved that. Why did Vader promise him these lessons, this power, only to take it from him? Why did he insist on tormenting him like that? He didn't understand. He wanted to scream at his commanding officer for scaring him, for toying with him, for being a tyrant who didn't know what he wanted.

He recalled the last training sessions with Vader. He had thought there had been something like a real bond tying itself between them. For a moment, he had thought he was starting, maybe not to understand him, but to connect with him. He had thought they had something in common, something they could share.

Well, turned out he'd been a fool. He didn't know what Vader wanted, and he didn't think he cared to discover it any more.

He walked back to his squadron's quarters, feeling strangely hollow.

*******

Vader stared at the door, feeling strangely hollow. He hadn't thought dismissing the boy would have that effect on him.

He had been surprised to find him in front of his quarters. Shunning him should have been enough for him to understand. He had never expected him to come back to ask for more lessons.

He took his datapad, opening the report that had just been sent to him. Analyses of the battle, as it turned out. Considering the types of the reinforcement ships and their trajectories, they had been traced to Rindia, a small planet not far away from there, home to the Rindians.

But his mind wouldn't stay focused on the text standing on the screen. Above the text, in transparency, he kept seeing the boy's terrified face, his fixed gaze, the tense steps he took away from him. He had already seen this expression, this certainty that death was descending on them, in other eyes before...

And his courage, his foolish insistence, even after being sent away...

_“I need more training to protect them.”_

He gripped the datapad tighter in his hand. He hadn't rejected the boy only to have him occupy his every thoughts again. What did he have to do to make it stop? 

A breaking sound made him stop to look down at the device in his hand. Unfit to resist such pressure as he was inflicting on it, its screen had began to crack. Vader set it aside from him, and put his mask in his hands.

He was so tired of this. He should never have decided to train him in the first place. He was just a boy, just a pilot. He had no reason to unsettle him like that.

And yet he did. Vader couldn't explain it. He had thought himself free of these feelings, of this pain. He had gone through so much to rid himself of it; would the Force never have mercy on him?

But no. Enough sentimentality. He rose up, walked around his room; but he couldn't help the ghost of old memories from swirling in his mind, trapped as he was with them.

_“Anakin... you're breaking my heart...”_

Enraged and despairing, he left his quarters. Maybe his technicians would be able to give him more details about the battle.

He still had a war to fight.


	19. Promises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update rhythm is an exception and won't become the rule, but in the meantime, enjoy! And make sure you've read the previous chapters before delving into this one ;)

Luke felt exhausted that evening when he descended to the mess for dinner. He looked around, trying to spot if any of his squadmates were in the room. A little further, Vil was sitting with Boomer, Cosmo, Dark Curse and Torpedo. Luke put his plate on his tray, then went to join them.

“Hi, Shooting Star,” Dark Curse looked up from his datapad and smiled at him. “Good sim today.”

He then got back to his reading, oblivious to the sombre looks the other pilots threw at Luke and the new weight of the atmosphere. The young man muttered a thanks and looked down at his food, his heart falling down in his chest. He put a spoonful of stew in his mouth and swallowed it before he could taste it. He wasn't hungry.

The others continued their conversation without paying him any more attention, and Luke gladly stayed out of it. He ate in silence, listening from one ear to the discussion about whether killing a peko-peko albatross in a snubfighter brought bad luck.

Finally, most of his squadmates finished their own meal and rose from the table. Boomer greeted him and Vil, who was still eating but had told the others to go ahead and not wait for him, then followed the other squadmates as they put their trays in place and left the mess. Luke sighed, feeling the tension drain all at once. Vil came to sit in front of him.

“Sorry about them. They'll come around.”

Luke shrugged, offered him a smile.

“It's all right. I suppose I am some kind of anomaly.”

Vil laughed.

“Yeah, you could say that. Eighteen years old, member of Black Squadron, Vader's wingman, flying better than us all together... Can't blame them for being a little jealous.”

Luke looked down, feeling bitter again.

“It's not like I can do anything to change it. I didn't ask for any of it.”

“I know,” Vil hurried to assure him. “I told you, they'll come around.”

Luke huffed sarcastically, without joy.

“What are they even jealous about, anyway? He just threw me away like an old shoe when I asked him to continue our lessons. First he bullies me, then he offers to teach me, now this... I'm done. I trade my place with yours any time.”

He gritted his teeth and breathed through his nose, biting his tongue to prevent any more outburst. He felt like screaming, but that wouldn't do in the middle of the mess hall.

“Aw, come on,” Vil said. “Don't think like that. It'll get better, I'm sure.”

Luke looked back up at him, and forced a smile. He had to get a grip of himself. Vil didn't deserve to get all that thrown upon his head. Surely he didn't care about a teenager's whining. Kriffing hells, why did he have to be like this? He was a pilot, not a child!

“Sorry,” he whispered, unable to manage more all of a sudden. He coughed, felt a little better. “I'm just a little tired. Anyway – how're you faring with... uh, everything?”

Vil shrugged.

“All right, I guess. Still reeling a little from Mauler's death, to be honest. I think we all are, but it'll pass... it always does.”

Luke nodded.

“I know the feeling,” he said.

They sat in companionable silence for a little while, Vil finishing his caf while Luke toyed with the rest of his stew, hesitating. He felt like talking to Vil about the thing that hadn't stopped bothering him since they came back from the battle. It was a dangerous thing to talk about, and Luke wondered if he could trust him.

“Did you hear what happened at – uh – the end of the battle?” he probed the ground, cursing himself for his clumsiness. 

Vil's face fell, and he frowned.

“The refugees?” he asked, and Luke nodded, glad he'd understood what he was talking about immediately. “Yeah. I think I'd rather not have heard anything.”

“I can't get them out of my mind,” Luke confessed, relieved Vil seemed to feel the same as he did. That meant he wasn't a traitor for thinking that. “I don't understand why our troopers had to...”

“Well, they did ally with the Rebels,” Vil said. “I guess. I'm not too sure either, I confess. I don't like it when this kind of thing happens, but it's not like we can do anything.”

Luke nodded, but didn't add anything. He already felt a little better about it. It was true: they couldn't do anything about it. They were just soldiers. They weren't the ones giving the orders. He just had to get used to it.

The farmboy in him, and his uncle's nephew, was still troubled by the easy dismissal. Uncle Owen had always taught him to man up and take responsibility for what he did. He'd told him more than once that a man unable to face his own actions was a coward. But it hadn't even been his own actions, had it? All he'd done was hear Lord Vader order the troopers to destroy the caves, and protect the shuttle as he was supposed to do. He'd _saved_ lives that day, not destroyed them.

He forced the rest of his stew down just as Vil gulped down the last of his caf.

“Hey,” he told him, “if you've got some time right now, would you mind helping me out on the training report I need to wrap up? I need to have it finished by tomorrow for the briefing, and I'm a little short, I still have a thousand other things to do...”

“Sure,” Luke answered him. “What's it about?”

“Solar calculations,” Vil said. Luke grimaced.

They spend the next hour working on it. By the time it was done, when Vil thanked Luke for his help and they parted ways, Luke's heart was already much lighter.

*******

Darth Vader knelt in front of the holostation, trying to ignore the pain in his articulations. A faint noise rang to confirm that the signal was being transmitted.

His master would be glad. They had warded off any and all Rebel presence on Praadost. Furthermore, it hadn't been difficult to find out who, among its allies, had sent the reinforcements that hindered their search for the Rebels. The only thing that bothered Vader was that they still hadn't been able to determine what the Rebels knew of the Empire's new weapon. The caves had been searched as much as they could before being blown up, but nothing had turned up.

The huge blue hologram of the Emperor's head appeared. Vader bowed deeper.

“You have news about the campaign, Lord Vader.”

“Yes, my master.” Vader rose his head to look the Emperor in the eye, but didn't stand up, his right forearm resting on his upright knee. “The Rebels were hiding refugees into caves in their mountains. They didn't seem to know anything about our project. Our search for suspicious activity pertaining to that remained fruitless.”

The Emperor's face hid deeper into the folds of its hood. Vader thought he could make out the shadow of a smile on his lips.

“Good. You have done well.”

Vader acknowledged him with a nod.

“Praadost's forces are small, and were weakened by our former assault on the base. They couldn't resist us for long. But our search was impeded nonetheless. Reinforcements came to their aid, which we traced to Rindia.”

The Emperor looked pensive.

“Then you know what you have to do. No world can be allowed to defy us. Show Rindia what we are capable of.”

Vader inclined his head.

“It will be done.”

He waited for the transmission to be cut, and for the Emperor's face to vanish into shadow; but the call didn't end. Vader looked at his master again. What else could he be wanting to ask about?

Uneasiness awoke in his abdomen. There was only one other thing the Emperor could be interested in... Indeed, he was proven right when his master spoke again.

“By the way... how is your own little project progressing?”

“My... project?”

“Yes. The boy that you talked to me about. Is he as strong as you thought?”

Vader gritted his teeth, checked his shields. He would have preferred to avoid talking about the boy, but his master's curiosity, of course, had to be appeased. The Emperor's eyes were gleaming with greed; Vader's stomach writhed angrily, taken by a possessive instinct he didn't know he harboured.

“Yes, my master. He has shown great potential, and knows next to nothing about the Force. I have started his training, but it could be some time before he pledges himself to the dark side.”

“All in due time,” Sidious answered. “I am much intrigued by this apprentice of yours. You must bring him to me, once he is ready.”

Vader shivered. There was no mistaking the covetousness in the Emperor's voice. And yet the boy wouldn't be turning any time soon, not with Vader having abandoned his training... He felt trapped. He had underestimated his master's interest. When he had first brought up the boy with him, he had thought the Emperor was merely indulging him. He hadn't expected him to _want_ the boy trained...

“That could prove... difficult,” he tentatively said, his heart hammering in his chest, hoping Sidious wouldn't take offence. “He has shown a certain... lack of interest for the ways of the Force...”

“Nonsense,” the Emperor cut him off. “You must merely offer him what he craves. How did you try to sway him?”

“I offered to teach him to improve his flying,” Vader answered, thinking as fast as he could. He needed to tell his master he no longer wanted to train him, but even as he thought it, the words seemed childish, spineless to him. Sidious should never know about the humiliation of his shameful feelings for the boy. “He has proven himself an excellent pilot...”

“As you once were,” Sidious said, smiling at him as if it was a compliment. But Vader knew better. He had been a very good pilot, and he had been swayed to the dark side; surely this boy could be too.

He swallowed, a powerful wave of hatred coursing through him. As usual with his master, he was losing control of the conversation. How he despised this helplessness, this loss of power...

“His flying skills are unparalleled. I believe he would best serve the Empire here, in the squadron.”

The Emperor's eyes narrowed, and Vader knew he had made a mistake.

“I would allow it, but you were so eager to train him, last time we spoke of him... what has changed?”

“Nothing, my master.” As soon as he words left his lips, he knew they had come a little too fast. “I merely assessed him better...”

“And found him strong with the Force,” the Emperor insisted, frowning in a show of concern. There was no getting out of this. “What is troubling you, Lord Vader?”

A cold and slick tendril, pure and oily darkness, brushed against Vader's consciousness, and he had to refrain himself from slamming his shields down on it.

“Master...”

Before he could react in any way, the tendril lightly probed at his memories, dredging up images of the boy before retracting. 

“He looks much like you did,” the Emperor whispered.

Vader didn't answer, his teeth gritted in anger and shame.

“He also comes from Tatooine?”

“Yes.”

“Close to Kenobi's hiding place, it would seem.”

Vader swallowed his furious retort, feeling stripped bare like every time his master invaded his thoughts so. He had no right... this was his mind...

And yet should he have tried to conceal these things from him? They were so trivial... it was Vader's fault if he let these emotions get in his way, not the Emperor's. He still had so much to learn.

“I first wondered if he was his apprentice,” he ground out. “He is not.”

The Emperor looked at him without speaking, and Vader held his gaze. He focused on his breathing cycle, unable to control even his own breath, even this most basic part of his life.

Finally, Sidious sighed.

“Very well, Lord Vader. I will trust you on this. If you believe it... wiser... for the boy not to be trained, I will abide by your judgement.”

Something in the way he said it sent Vader in a rage. Sidious knew of his unwanted feelings; there was no other explanation. But he was wrong. Vader wasn't this feeble, wasn't this weak.

“He will turn, my master. I will make sure of it.”

The Emperor flashed him a smile that Vader could only describe as sinister.

“Then I look forward to meeting him.”

His face softened.

“You have done well, my friend. I am certain you will continue to make me proud.”

The transmission then cut before Vader had time to answer. He was left on the console, reeling in confusion, his fists still tightly closed.

He rose up, gritting his teeth against the pain in his artificial joints. He hated these cumbersome appendages, unfitted to his morphology, clumsy and heavier than flesh and bone. Not for the first time, he wished his medical condition was better. The Emperor had told him he was too unstable still for his prosthetics to be changed, and they risked losing him if they tried to upgrade them. Vader only half believed him, and anger flared once again in him at the thought that his master would willingly leave him in this state.

Not that he would have minded taking the risk. In his opinion, the peril was well worth it. But he hadn't pressed the matter.

He did deserve the constant suffering.

He headed towards his hyperbaric chamber, overcome with the need to breathe by himself, to feel the air brushing against his face. He was tired, drained by the conversation. Taking his mask off for a while would do him good.

He sighed when the too white walls closed, and the plate of metal was finally lifted from his face. His eyes prickled at the contact of atmosphere. He closed them for an instant, allowing his damaged tear ducts to produce the moisture they needed.

Feeling a bit calmer, he thought about the conversation he just had with his master again. He tensed, overwhelming guilt and disgust washing over him. Once again he had lost his composure. Once again he had let himself be ruled by his emotions. What a pathetic Sith apprentice he made, broken in every way, unable to master himself.

And as usual, his master had gotten exactly what he wanted out of him. Vader didn't know who he was most resentful at, himself or Sidious, for being manipulated into picking up the boy's training.

In any case, he had to consider himself lucky his master hadn't discovered the traitorous thoughts that had crossed his mind the last time he had thought of the boy. He was still remorseful about it. How could he even hope to get rid of him, when he had saved his life and kept him at his side, supported him through the darkest part of his life? He owed him his loyalty. It was the only thing he still had to offer. 

But he had to admit, and the thought filled him with shame, that the perspective of a life free from his master was an alluring one.

He rose up, furious with himself. What was it in him, that made him feel like his nine-year-old self any time he had to deal with the Emperor? Why couldn't he handle himself maturely, like any grown up adult?

And how had their relationship deteriorated like this, to the point where he could dream of killing him? He still remembered the moments spent in the Chancellor's office, discussing the war and the Jedi. He had felt understood back then. Palpatine had been, with Padmé, the one person he had felt able to trust completely. Vader longed to have this friendship again, and grieved the loss of it. What had changed between them?

He sketched a self-deprecating smile. Here he went again, drowning in his own misery. Was it really any wonder that his master kept preying on his weaknesses, when he was so unable to reign them in? All this time, and he still hadn't learnt anything.

He let the droid set the mask and helmet back on his face, then stepped out of his chamber. He would take care of the boy later. For now, he would prepare the attack against the Rindians.

He strode in the corridor, ignoring the doors of Black Squadron's quarters as he walked past them. He most certainly didn't feel any relief or disappointment when nobody came out of the rooms.

He would need information about Rindia, its planetary data, the layout of the world and its specificities, he thought. Hopefully Captain Piett would be able to compile it quickly, so that he could devise an attack plan.

His heart missed a beat when a familiar figure exited a meeting room, engrossed in a datapad. The boy looked up and froze when he saw him; Vader was glad his mask concealed his equally stunned expression. Soon enough Lars recovered and stood at attention.

“My lord.”

Vader took a step forward, and the boy twitched. He was getting better at keeping his face neutral, but simmering resentment swirled around his Force presence too strongly for Vader to miss it, trickling even in his voice. The Sith Lord couldn't help but bask into it. He reached out to touch his presence, drawn to his brightness much like a moth to a flame.

“Ensign Lars. We keep running into each other, it seems.”

The boy swallowed. His jaw tensed.

“Not on purpose, my lord.”

He shot him a fearful glance, before standing at attention again, taut and terrified. Vader found himself transported weeks into the past: he hadn't been confronted to such coldness and fright from him in a long time. He violently dismissed the pang that shot through his heart at the realisation.

“At ease. I will not harm you.”

Lars looked at him once more, longer this time, assessing him. He slowly relaxed, but his eyes never left him, his face guarded. His entire body was on the defensive, ready to bolt at the slightest threat.

That wouldn't do, Vader thought, repressing the disappointment running through him at the boy's reaction. He needed Lars to trust him, if he ever was to turn him. And he had all but promised the boy to his master... He dismissed the unpleasant sensation awakening in his gut at the thought of delivering the young pilot to the Emperor, forcing himself to focus on the here and now. The hostile face of the boy was no encouragement.

“You are welcome to start the lessons again, if you so desire,” he said, remembering his earlier request.

All fright on Lars' face disappeared. Instead he stared at Vader and scoffed incredulously.

“Oh, so _now_...?”

He swallowed, his blue eyes still fixed on Vader with fire in their depths.

“Well, thank you, my lord, but I'll pass.”

He saluted, then strolled past Vader and walked away. The Sith Lord gaped at his insolence. Almost on instinct, he reached out with the Force and grasped at the boy's shoulder, preventing him from walking any further. Lars turned rigid in his grasp, his breath quickening.

Vader took the few steps separating them and came to stand in front of the boy, before releasing him. The pilot was keeping his datapad against his chest, his shoulders slumped, his eyes closed. When Vader approached him, he looked up defiantly at him.

“What do you _want_ from me?” he whispered.

“You seemed eager to keep learning, when you came into my quarters.”

“That was before you rejected me!”

Vader pinched his lips.

“Perhaps I should not have spoken to you so harshly,” he admitted, his tone softer. “But I am offering it to you again.”

Lars looked down at his extended hand, then up again into his eyes.

“And then what? Will you ignore me for weeks, or just strangle me to death once you've decided I'm no longer worth your time?”

Vader didn't answer, unable to deny the blows that had struck his chest when he heard the boy's words. He closed his fist. Of course that wasn't what he wanted! Would he bother to go to him and offer him these lessons once more, if he just meant to get rid of him?

Lars sighed and looked down, all fight gone from him.

“I apologise, my lord. This wasn't my place.”

But he was right, Vader found himself thinking with increasing unease. His apology felt out of place, wrong even. There was still a strong undercurrent of fear resonating in the boy's presence; he shivered as Vader probed him, and the Sith Lord hastily retreated.

“Do you no longer want to fly? To protect your squadmates?” Vader asked, and the boy flinched, rubbing his throat. 

Suddenly, it dawned on Vader what the origin of that gesture might be. Without thinking, he took a step forward, extending his hand to brush the base of the pilot's neck. Lars gasped, took a step back, threw him a terrified glance.

Vader's hand froze in the air. He tightened his fist and took a step back, before slowly bringing his arm back down.

“I... apologise,” he quietly said. “I promise you I will not... strangle you, in your own words, or make any other attempt on your life. That was... a mistake.”

Lars shot him a glance, looking surprised.

“It didn't feel like that at the time,” he choked out.

Vader inclined his head, not knowing how to respond. He, too, remembered the murderous urge he had felt back then, this irresistible desire to get rid of him. Somehow, he regretted it; he couldn't fathom feeling like this towards him again.

The boy drew a shaky breath.

“I – I appreciate it, my lord. But I don't think I can... I should focus on my regular squadron training instead.”

He looked at him once more, then walked away. Vader didn't try to stop him, but merely watched him go, feeling more subdued and thoughtful than he had in a long time.

*******

Luke stopped around the corner and put his hand against the wall, pinching his lips and squeezing his eyes. He couldn't go back to his squadron quarters like this. He was already not in the best terms with the other pilots; he didn't want them to think he was a crybaby, too.

He took a trembling breath, then another, forcing them through his constricted throat. His heart was still beating fast from the fright Vader's behaviour had caused him. He could still see his hand reaching for his throat, the images superposed with others, older and more terrible, where he no longer could breathe...

He gritted his teeth in rage. At least he seemed to understand now. Luke hoped he did. He wanted peace... he wanted him to stop playing with him like a lothcat with a mouse. He still couldn't believe he'd called nearly murdering him a _mistake_ , as if he's just misspelled his name, or sent him a uniform the wrong size. Though he had to admit he had never expected him to even apologise...

To his immense shame, Luke was already starting to regret not taking him up on his offer. This was the opportunity of a lifetime. It could make him the best pilot anyone had ever seen... And hadn't he promised himself he would always do his best? Didn't he owe it to Mauler, to Chaser, to Backstabber, to his father even, all these people whose fight he had sworn to continue?

He wished they were here with him, to hear their voices again, see them laugh. He felt so alone.

Didn't Vader know how frustrating and exhausting his constant changes of mood were? Luke had no idea where he stood with him. He couldn't bear this uncertainty any longer, especially when it came with the constant risk of being killed on the spot. He was too tired for that. The man really had it coming. Why didn't he just _order_ him to do what he wanted rather than bully him, anyway?

And yet Luke couldn't help seeing Vader's bewildered stance as he walked away, and feeling sorry for him.

He closed his eyes and bit on his tongue to prevent himself from screaming. The metallic smell of blood bloomed in his mouth, strangely cathartic.

If Chaser was here, he'd probably punch him in the shoulder for being so stupid, alleviate a little the weight on his heart. Mauler would give him a speech about all he did wrong, sort all the confusion in his mind. And his father...

Well, Luke had never known his father, so he had no idea what he would do.

He had done the right thing. Vader was powerful, and his commanding officer, but he hadn't given Luke any order. And Luke was exhausted from dealing with him. He deserved a break.

He took another deep breath, straightened up, then walked back to his quarters with his head held high.


	20. Coercion

“... approximately seventeen hours at sublight.”

Vader blinked, realised Commander Piett had stopped speaking. He didn't recall everything the man had said, though he was sure he'd caught the most important things.

“Good work, Commander,” he said, repressing his irritation. He had to act as if everything was fine; Piett couldn't know about his distraction. “Make the necessary preparations, then contact Rindia and issue them our message. If they do not submit to us, we will attack as soon as we receive their answer.”

Piett bowed, then walked away, unaware of his commander's turmoil. Vader closed his fists. He turned, then left the meeting room as well. He needed a walk.

These moments of inattention had become more frequent lately. Even though he hated it, Vader knew exactly since when: the boy's latest rejection was still haunting his memory. Ever since his arrival onboard, Vader had been increasingly troubled by his presence, but it had never prevented him from focusing on his work before.

He couldn't keep the boy's accusations from his mind. If he had ever thought himself bothered by his interactions with him, it was nothing compared to how he was feeling now. His words were freezing his guts, waves of cold chagrin crashing through him every time he remembered them.

_“Will you strangle me to death once you've decided I'm no longer worth your time?”_

To his great shame, Vader realised he'd thought about doing just that more than once. But now the thought of disposing of the boy was far less appealing than it ever was. He wanted him at his side, not dead. 

At his side, not the Emperor's.

That last realisation bothered him immensely. The Emperor and him were on the same side. He had never thought of him as an enemy; he had no reason to do so when it came to the boy.

Besides, why should he care about that arrogant pilot's fate? It was none of his concern. If his master wanted Lars, then it was his duty to bring the boy to him. Maybe this would at last allow him some rest from the insistence with which he occupied his thoughts, though he supposed this was mostly vain hope at this point.

And yet the perspective of no longer seeing his bright eyes look at him with impertinence, feeling the warmth of the tendrils of his Force-presence clumsily probing his, or hearing the youth of his light voice uttering bold comebacks, was leaving a strange hollowness in his chest.

No matter how annoying he was, Vader realised he missed the young man. He remembered his wonder when discovering the Force, his power when delving into it, his eagerness to learn. Vader didn't remember ever feeling this relaxed... at peace. Being with him allowed him a welcome respite from his everyday struggle with himself, and teaching him brought him more joy than he had in a long time.

He sneered at the ridiculousness of it. It was preposterous. All the boy was achieving was distracting him from his duties. He needed to turn him, so he could send him to Imperial Centre and be rid of him and his annoying influence on him once and for all.

But despite his best efforts, he couldn't suppress the reluctance churning at the base of his guts whenever he thought of the young man being shipped away to the Emperor.

He couldn't repress an annoyed gesture of his hand as he hastened his step. He would deal with all that when it presented itself. The first step was to turn the boy. And for that, he needed to obtain his trust back.

Or maybe gain his trust would be a better term. It suddenly occurred to him how afraid Lars had seemed whenever he was close to him. How many times had he seen jump at his slightest gesture, rub his throat, or throw him nervous glances after talking back? Had the boy ever truly trusted him?

With another useless pang in his chest, Vader realised it could all be traced back to the time when he had tried to kill the boy, fed up with his arrogance. Yes, Lars had used up all his patience... but Vader was starting to regret it, nonetheless. Had he caused irreparable damage with his rash gesture?

Surely not. Lars had come to him for flying training, even after that unfortunate event. And then he had put an end to it...

Yes, maybe he had been careless with the boy. But it was nothing that couldn't be mended. He was certain Lars would come back to him, if only out of curiosity. He had, after all, witnessed himself his thirst for knowledge. He certainly couldn't resist the call of the Force for long...

He entered his quarters, still deep in thought as the door slid closed behind him.

*******

Luke drummed his fingers against the table of the meeting room, sipping his caf with a distracted eye on his report. Anxiety was churning in his stomach.

For the last couple of days, he had been avoiding most of the squadron, keeping himself to a few chats with Vil or Silver. With his duties, Dark Curse was now too busy to talk much. Qorl's disposition towards him didn't seem to have mellowed, and the others seemed content to follow his example, although they weren't as aggressive as he was. They mostly tended to ignore Luke, while Qorl went out of his way to send him a snide remark or a spiteful glance.

But this morning, they were having a full squadron meeting again. Worse than this, Luke was supposed to speak up. Stellar previsions were actually rather fun to do, in his opinion, but in the current climate of the squadron he'd rather not have to have all their gazes focused on him at once. 

He kept repeating himself it was just a phase and it would pass. So said his two remaining friends. But it didn't change the nervousness roiling in his guts whenever he had to interact with the other pilots. 

He wished he could tell them about the Force, this sixth sense and strange power that allowed him to soar into the sky, avoiding threats without even thinking about it. But he knew it wouldn't make anything better. They would just think he was crazy, or worse, lying to them. They would never believe him, in any case.

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. It was hard to keep his mood uplifted in such circumstances. He missed Chaser a lot, and wished Mauler was here... he felt so lonely. His fallen squadmates' absence was a gap in his life that throbbed like a wound.

Was it possible to turn back time with the Force? Could he possibly go back and save them? He'd have to ask –

Except he wasn't really on that sort of speaking terms with Vader any longer.

He knew he'd made the right choice when he decided to refuse the man's lessons. He was just so tired of his twisted way of playing with him. Though to be fair, Luke wasn't sure if he did it on purpose, or if he was just _that_ clueless...

But he had to admit that his melancholy wasn't entirely due to his squadmates' absence. He missed Vader's lessons, too. They had given him a goal and a sense of purpose that he would truly be happy to find again...

No. He couldn't afford to think like this. He wasn't going to serve as a punching ball for the man any longer.

Another sigh escaped his lips.

“A heartfelt sentiment,” a rumbling bass teased behind him.

He swirled back, surprised by the voice. He glared daggers at Vader. The man really couldn't give him a break!

“What are you doing here?” he asked before he could refrain himself.

“I have come to brief your squadron. I was not aware you would already be here.”

Luke scoffed, took another sip of his caf. He hadn't wanted to have his breakfast in the squadron quarters. Lately, they'd become stifling, and Luke had wanted to escape the heavy atmosphere. He'd wanted time by himself, to think and free himself from the weight on his heart.

Too bad _someone_ had ruined these plans.

The silence became awkward. Vader walked past Luke and went to stand at the front of the room, his back to the young pilot. Luke didn't spare him a glance. He didn't believe Vader's argument for an instant. Had he come in the hopes to make Luke change his mind? If so, he was in for a surprise.

“Young one...”

Luke threw Vader a surprised glance. He didn't think he'd ever heard his voice so soft, so... uncertain. They locked eyes, and Vader stared at him for a moment, as if he were searching his words. The Force swirled around them, unsure and hesitant. Luke had to refrain from probing Vader back out of curiosity.

Footsteps sounded behind him, and Luke turned back, breaking the moment. Boomer entered the room, shot Luke a short look then went to sit two rows behind of him. Soon after, the other pilots entered and did the same as Boomer. Only Vil and Dark Curse smiled at him, and Silver came to sit next to him; all the others were firmly staying in his back. Luke looked down, feeling a pang through his chest.

His nervousness flared up again, and his grip on his datapad turned stronger. He really didn't want to speak up in front of them today.

A holographic planet rose up from the console in front of the room. Luke's gaze shot towards it, his dark musings eclipsed by curiosity. What was Vader all about?

“This is Rindia. It is the third planet of the Rindian system, and the only habitable one, populated by Rindians and a minority of humans.”

Vader paused for a second, looked at them all.

“It is one of Praadost's most powerful allies; allies that sent in reinforcements to help them resist our former investigation.”

Gasps and nods surged in comprehension. This was a battle briefing; a battle for retaliation.

The holograph grew and zoomed on the Southern hemisphere.

“Rindia's surface is covered in shrubland. It is mostly wild, due to the dangerous nature of the shrub and its tendency to get aflame. Most inhabitants have settled in this region, where the temperature is more temperate and water more present. It contains Rindia's largest cities, including its capital. That is where we will strike.”

He gestured towards an area on the map that had started to glow red.

“A barrage will be set around the urban zone to prevent any ships from escaping – barrage which you and other TIE squadrons will be responsible for holding. Meanwhile, a squadron of bombers will come in and strike at regular intervals to pressure them into surrendering.”

“Um, sir?” Luke let escape. His gaze was focused on the sphere in front of him. “What if reinforcements come from the outside?”

“I am coming to it. Another barrage will be set, this time at the level of _Devastator,_ to blockade any ships trying to enter Rindia's atmosphere. Naturally, your work will be to stop entrances as well as exits.”

Luke nodded.

“Now we just hope they don't have anti-aircraft weapons,” he muttered.

“Primary analyses have not detected any. If we are mistaken, then they will naturally be your primary targets.”

Luke smiled, their casual dialogue reminding him of their training sessions. It was so easy to exchange like this...

Qorl's whisper immediately made him regret it.

“And a bootlicker at that.”

Luke rolled his eyes, and had to bite his tongue not to answer. Was he the same man that had berated him for his apparent lack of loyalty recently? He was just being bitter.

Vader, however, seemed to have noticed Qorl's comment as well. He stilled, his eyes boring into the pilot. Luke tensed and looked back at his squadmate, relieved when he saw him sustain Vader's gaze with uneasiness, but clearly not restrained in any way by their commanding officer. _Please don't do anything to him,_ he silently prayed. _He doesn't deserve it... it'll just make things worse... please let it go..._

Fortunately Vader seemed to relax. He came back to his presentation without any comment on what had just happened. Luke sagged in his seat and let out a breath.

He didn't speak during the rest of the meeting. When Vader finally called it off, Luke was surprised to see he stayed in place while tinkering with the holodevice, instead of storming off as he usually did; he had an inkling he knew why. Without giving him a chance, he hurried to leave the room, his hand still clasped around the briefing data he – to his relief – hadn't had to expose today.

“Hey,” Silver came to him with a smile. “Things seem to be better for you with Lord Vader than the last time I saw you together.”

Luke gave a small laugh.

“You can see it that way.”

Silver's eyebrows shot up.

“What do you mean?” he asked. “Is there something wrong?”

Luke looked away and sighed. He didn't feel like explaining it.

“No, it's fine,” he sighed.

Vader exited the room and passed in front of him, but Luke only spared him a side glance, refusing to acknowledge the small falter in his step he was certain he had not imagined before his commanding officer walked away. He looked back at Silver with a smile.

“I still have a few things to do, though, so maybe I'll stay here for a little while longer. See you later?”

The other pilot hesitated, then smiled back and followed the others of the squad.

Luke entered the room again, and sat at the same place he'd been seated not so long before, not knowing if he was more relieved, tired, or angry.

Truth was, he knew this situation extremely well. He'd been the outcast during his whole childhood: scrawny and blond, living farther from the city than the others, his head in the stars, he's always stood out among the others. Biggs, who shared his passion for flying, had been his only true friend during these lonely years. All the others had either shunned him or teased him. He had never been outright bullied, outside from a few occasions... but it hadn't made it nicer a sentiment to know he didn't belong.

Never had he thought it would start again once he was a pilot.

Deciding to set his grim musings aside, he took his datapad and unlocked it. It was still showing the file of his presentation, that he finally hadn't needed to do, thanks to Vader's intervention. He supposed the data would still be valuable the next time they held a squad meeting. Hopefully the atmosphere would be a little more relaxed towards him.

He opened his mailbox, which consisted solely of organisation notes, information he'd gathered, and messages from people aboard. The Holonet was a complicated piece of technology to put in place, and he hadn't heard of any network greater than planetary – except in the Core, maybe, but Luke had given up trying to follow everything sensational happening in the Core. They had long-range transmission if they wanted to communicate with someone outside the ship. But technical limitations overall restricted their Holonet to information from aboard, with the exception of the daily news downloaded from Imperial Centre via LRT.

He opened a few of his messages with a distracted eye: an automated message from some captain, a notice from repairs, the Star Weather bulletin. He had also received an answer about some Rebel ships specs, that he needed to finish a data report. Slightly more interested, he opened it.

He scrolled down, threw a glance at the figures – he'd analyse them later. But a short note by the officer in charge awakened an unpleasant sensation in his stomach.

_The missing figures had been provided by interrogation and were since disproved._

He still had a distinct feeling he knew what kind of interrogation had been performed here... 

Unwilling to dwell on it, he closed the message and continued to check out his inbox, doing his best to silence Biggs frowning in his mind. There was nothing he could do about it. He had a job to do. It didn't make him happy, but such was war and he was slowly coming to accept it.

Or at least, he hoped so.

He continued working for about one hour before surrendering. His heart felt like lead, and his head might as well been about to burst.

He needed a break from everything, a well-deserved breather. He closed his datapad and brought it back to the deserted squadron dorm, then left the quarters.

He wandered in the corridors, wondering where he could go to take things off his mind. He had mastered the ability to look purposeful even though he was only taking a walk, so as to not stand out against all the other officers. His mind felt too clouded to think.

However, his steps slowed down when he realised where his legs had unknowingly led him. The sim room.

That was an excellent idea. Heavy as he felt, flying was the perfect way to take his mind off things. It was productive and would make him feel better.

He walked closer to the machines, but didn't immediately get into the cockpit. His lips stretched in a smile as he remembered the last times he'd been here.

_The Force is what binds the universe together. It surrounds and penetrates us all, and is part of every living being in existence..._

He closed his eyes, reached out like Vader had shown him, what already seemed so long ago. The mental motions were becoming easier and easier, and Luke was rather proud of the progress he'd made. He shifted through the ship, brushed against the unsuspecting presences around him, busy and swarming...

He jumped as familiar curls of smoke entwined with his own presence, too strong and close. Luke opened his eyes and swirled back, hardly surprised to find Vader there.

“Ensign. I had a feeling I would find you here.”

Luke gritted his teeth and closed his fists. _You really have no clue what “get lost” means, don't you._

“My lord,” he said, before reporting his gaze to the command console. He hoped Vader would finally get a hint and leave him alone. His fingers sifted through the different programs, but he hardly saw them, too focused on his commanding officer's presence behind him.

“What do you want?” he said when the man failed to speak, his back still turned on him.

“I wish for you to understand what you are throwing away and the decision you are making. You seemed so zealous when we started the lessons...”

“With all due respect, my lord, I think we already had this conversation,” Luke said, turning to face him. “You said they were over and I didn't need them any more.”

“Do you really think the craft of the Force is so easy to master? You have just set a foot in a larger world. You cannot even begin to imagine how many things you have yet to discover.”

Luke scoffed lightly, clinging to his resolve and determined not to let Vader get into his head. No matter how much he tried to deny it, the words had hurt. It was tempting, so tempting, to give in and accept. He yearned to learn more, to taste more of these wonderful sensations. But he knew it wouldn't be right. For his own sanity, he couldn't allow his commanding officer to play with him again like he had so many times.

“It doesn't matter. You stopped these lessons.”

“I then offered them to you again.”

Luke sighed, exasperated.

“I realise,” he bit back before he could help it. “I was there too, you know.”

Vader's fist closed, and Luke swallowed, but for once he couldn't find it in himself to be afraid. He stood his ground and looked Vader straight in the eye, too ticked off to feel intimidated any longer.

“Watch your tone, young one,” Vader growled, taking a step forward towards Luke. He waved a threatening finger in his face. “I am growing tired of your insolence.”

Luke's heartbeat quickened, and he couldn't help stepping back, sketching a defensive gesture. Vader seemed to notice, for he immediately backed down. Luke looked away.

“You still don't get it, don't you,” he weakly said, before swallowing the dryness of his mouth and continuing a bit louder. “I can't keep doing this. I can't be on edge all the time, without knowing what you'll do to me next, threaten me or praise me. It's just too much.”

He closed his eyes, trying not to shiver from the coldness of his commanding officer's angry probing.

“You overstep your boundaries,” Vader said, his voice soft and vicious, full of danger. Luke's breath caught in his throat. “I have been too lenient with you, if you think my offer was something you could throw back in my face any time you desired.”

Luke swallowed, his heart racing in his ears.

“I – I hadn't realised accepting it was an order...”

“I am making it one now,” Vader snapped. “And you will comply, if you do not want your life to be even more unpleasant. I have had enough of your petty rejections.”

Luke kept his eyes down, gritting his teeth.

“Yes, sir.”

“From now on you will report here every day at 0600 for training. You will practice what I teach you and do your best to succeed at what I ask of you.”

“Yes, sir.”

So this was how it was, then. Luke felt trapped, burning anger and hopelessness burning in his guts. At least now things were clear. He couldn't fathom how Vader hadn't used this card sooner. Clearly all the man was interested in was his skill. He was just a pawn to be used and thrown away, just a cog in the machine like he'd always known he was. He was entirely in Vader's power, doomed to die the second the man was displeased with him.

He just wished Vader hadn't gone out of his way to make it look like he cared. And how stupid had he been to fall for it, and think there had ever been any kind of bond between them? He was just his commanding officer. And Luke was just a soldier, a pilot who'd agreed to give his life to defend the Empire. This was how it should be.

He had no place to feel betrayed or disappointed by this. He had no place to feel bitter at the thought of lessons he'd been missing only a few hours ago. Maybe learning to use the Force was worth it all, worth the taste of ashes in his mouth and the certainty his time was running out, before Vader truly grew tired of him and Luke finally died at his hands.

He wished the man would just leave, now that he had what he wanted. But Vader took a step towards him instead. Luke didn't move, didn't repress his flinch as Vader's fingers lightly grazed his collarbone.

“I promise I will not hurt you,” he said. The soft rumble of his voice made Luke shudder. “You need not be afraid.”

Luke swallowed, still greatly uncomfortable with their closeness. He didn't dare step back, however.

“I will obey you, my lord, but that's not something I still can believe,” he whispered.

The touch of a Force tendril ran up his spine, then Vader stepped back, taking his presence with him. Luke breathed more easily.

“Nevertheless, you have my word,” he said. “I will see you tomorrow.”

Luke could only nod and watch as Vader walked away. Once he was alone, he slowly walked toward the bench next to the wall and sat down. He rested his head back and let a shaky breath out.

What a jerk. As if this changed anything! How was Luke supposed to believe his promise, when every single action he'd performed had disproved it?

And yet there was nothing he could do but hope Vader would keep his word. He had been able to feel his sincerity through the Force, but the man was so unpredictable Luke didn't dare give it any credit. Still, he supposed he appreciated his going out of his way to try and reassure him... though another part of him screamed that this was the least he could do, after everything.

A small smile found his lips. He had to admit he was kind of looking forward to more Force flying lessons, though he was still dreading Vader's temper, and angry at him for treating him so cavalierly. He was right when saying this was like setting foot in a larger world. Luke couldn't wait to explore it...

He rose up and choose a program before settling in the sim's cockpit, letting it wash away his worries as he was swept into the exercise.


	21. Communication

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo it's been a month againnnn :D (literally a month - I think I last updated this on July 30th...) I'm terribly sorry for letting down all of you who were starting to think I'd found a decent update rhythm. Turns out frequent updating is terrible for my inspiration, considering I hit a little bit of a dry spell again... well, that, and there's been a lot happening in my life right now (all good, no worries :)).
> 
> But anyway, here's the next chapter, at last. I hope you enjoy it!

Darth Vader stood in the sims room, his hands clasped behind his back. There was nobody training there; he had always made sure it was that way, for when speaking of the Force and the mysteries of the universe, he preferred there be no witnesses. He looked at the machines, completely motionless.

It had been a week since he ordered Lars to take back training. Seven days in which the boy had showed up perfectly on time, worked tirelessly, and never failed to demonstrate his strong desire to learn and will to prove himself. Vader knew the boy enjoyed Force training, as well as flying. That was something that never ceased to transpire from their sessions.

It was going as smoothly as he ever could hope. Lars was the perfect student: dedicated, hard-working, and motivated.

Yet Vader, for some reason, didn't feel as satisfied as he thought he would be by seeing him finally learn a thing about discipline.

He still remembered how easy-going Lars had been before he had so foolishly interrupted his training. Back then he had never thought twice before asking questions, candid as they sometimes were. He had been enthusiastic, open, and allowed Vader a fascinating look into his mind as he soaked up all the information he could on the Force.

The guarded and single-minded young man that came to their daily sessions couldn't have been more different. He hardly ever said a word, except to acknowledge Vader's instructions or ask for short and precise clarifications. There was a new hardness to his eyes, too, though Vader couldn't say if it had appeared recently, or if he only saw it now that he looked at him more closely.

It was everything Vader had wanted out of him. But, all things considered, he wasn't all that certain he appreciated the change.

Hard as it was to understand, he found himself missing the boy's quips and spirit. This new, closed behaviour didn’t suit him at all.

Under his mask, Vader frowned. He had sought to make Lars trust him. And while the young pilot may have obeyed his every order, it was clear he was still extremely wary of him – if not downright afraid. This must have been why Vader was so bothered by his behaviour. Once again, his actions pertaining to the boy had backfired, and he found himself not knowing how to deal with him.

Had it been a mistake to order him into training like he had done? Had his rash and impatient action managed to burn whatever ruins of bridge remained between the boy and him? But there had been no other way. Vader couldn't obtain Lars' trust while he was trying to avoid him. And with his duties lying at the top of the fleet, while Lars' were still those of a mere pilot, he couldn't count on their regular schedules giving him the opportunity to prove himself to him...

A familiar bright presence interrupted his thoughts when Vader felt it seek out his own instinctively. He turned around and saw the boy standing in the doorway, straight as an I and his whole body tense.

“Come,” Vader told him, waving for him to come closer.

Without a word, the young man complied and sat down on the ground in a fluid movement, practised many times. He crossed his legs and closed his eyes without needing Vader to tell him to.

“Good,” Vader praised him. “Now breathe, open your mind, broaden your perceptions... yes.”

Lars performed the exercise flawlessly, immersing himself in the Force like it was a second nature. Vader couldn't help but smile, still awed by the boy's talent after all this time – skill, really, at this point.

He opened himself to the Force in turn, and guided the boy in its folds, asking him to perform different exercises. Lars executed them all perfectly, but he had yet to say a word. Displeased, Vader realised this session was all set to happen like the previous times: Lars learning and practising, but quiet, his personality hidden behind a thick wall of suspicion. This wasn't how he would get an apprentice...

He complicated the exercise, pushed Lars to his limits in the hopes to finally break his shields. The boy didn't offer any reaction beside a frown and a pike of challenge through the Force. He threw his all in the effort, still remaining practically impassive. He didn't even complain when Vader asked him to stretch his perceptions to an extent even he had trouble attaining. When he failed, all he said to Vader was a quiet, subdued apology. Vader assured him he had done well, but was troubled to realise the boy's hands kept trembling, despite his pacifying words.

Deciding he would get nowhere like this, Vader sent the boy to the flight simulator. This was always what he took the most pleasure in; it was also the area in which he had the best instinctual responses. He truly was a natural, and practice was pushing his abilities to an extraordinary point. Vader had to admit he greatly enjoyed watching him.

Thankfully, this got the boy to relax the slightest bit, though he still had to say a word besides his laconic responses to Vader's instructions. As usual, his flying was unparalleled. He soared in the digital night sky, with all the freedom and the playfulness Vader no longer saw him exhibit any other way, but still conscious of his enemies' every movement.

“Very good,” he said once Lars had atomised the time record for that particular simulation. “You are improving quickly. Now, I want you to try something different.”

Lars' expression didn't change, though for a second his eyes flickered to Vader's fingers, skimming through the different programs.

“Yes, my lord?”

Vader adjusted the last settings, then looked back up at the boy.

“You are to destroy the enemy ships... without any weapons at your disposal.”

The slight tightening of Lars' jaw was all he showed of his surprise. Vader couldn't help remembering the loud protests he had emitted during their very first lesson, when he thought an assignment was impossible to complete.

“How, sir?”

“By predicting your enemies' movements through the Force, and using them against them. You have already shown excellent reflexes, due to your capacity to perceive the intentions of the pilots around you. Expand that ability. Use it to defeat your foes.”

Lars slowly nodded, thinking.

“And no manipulating the ships through the program. Act as if they were real beings rather than algorithms.”

The corner of the boy's lips jerked upwards when he remembered his previous little trick, but he repressed his smile at the last moment.

“Go.”

Lars nodded, took a deep breath, clutched the controls tighter. Vader launched the program, and stood back to watch.

At first the boy did nothing but dodge the ships. Attacks were coming his way, and he avoided them, over and over again despite the odds. Vader couldn't help be impressed by his agility; but he knew he couldn't hold it for long. He had to find a way to reduce the number of his enemies.

A strained swear word escaped the cockpit after a particularly narrow escape. The boy was tiring, losing both his concentration and his control over himself. That was part of Vader's goal in assigning him such a difficult exercise, beyond the fact that it would make him progress a lot. Given the right pressure, the boy's shields would have to crack, his true emotions to shine through; then, perhaps, Vader could reach out to him.

There was a muffled groan, and the dot on the monitor flickered and died. The boy took a deep breath, made a conscious effort to relax his muscles. Then he opened his eyes, and asked Vader to start the program again.

It happened like this for another thirty minutes: Lars would dodge, and dodge again, until the moment he tired and one of the enemies got him. Like Vader thought, as he grew more and more weary, his composure began to slip, his emotions flowing more and more freely under the effects of adrenaline. After what had to have been his fifteenth run, he stopped for a moment and run a shaking hand through his hair, before casually addressing Vader.

“Are you _sure_ I can't tweak the sim to destroy them?”

He then bit his lip and averted his gaze, looking so much like a deer caught in a speeder's headlights Vader couldn't hold back a short laugh.

“You would not only destroy your enemies, but also the purpose of the exercise.”

The boy let the smile reach his lips this time, but couldn't help throwing him a wary glance. He sighed, run his hand on his face this time, then gripped the controls once more.

“I'm ready.”

Vader let him run the program again, and again, before taking pity on him when each run started to be over after ten seconds.

“That's enough for today,” he said.

Lars was reluctant to stand up, but he didn't protest. He took a deep breath, wavered a little when coming out of the cockpit.

“How am I supposed to do this?” he asked. “This is by far the most complicated exercise you've ever asked of me.”

“I ask it of you because you can do it,” Vader said. “Trust in the Force, and it will give you the answer.”

Lars didn't seem overly convinced, but he nodded without a word, his lips pinched.

“Something is bothering you,” Vader stated. 

Lars hesitated, then shook his head.

“It's nothing, my lord.”

Vader crossed his arms, ready to berate him for lying and to order him to answer, but he decided otherwise when he saw the boy flinch, no doubt feeling his intentions. He watched him better, probing him lightly with the Force to try and guess what was the matter.

“You think you are unable to do it.”

Lars sighed as discreetly as he could, but Vader heard it all the same.

“I will try.”

“Trying is useless, when one doesn't believe in their abilities.”

Again the boy just nodded, his face so unreadable it was driving Vader mad.

“I understand. I will do my best.”

“Good,” Vader insisted, not certain the boy believed him. He had no idea where he was standing, and he was growing irritated by it. “I wouldn’t ask you such a thing if I didn’t think you were capable.”

For a fraction of a second, a shadow passed on the boy’s face, just as mysterious as all his expressions had been up until now; then he regained his blank mask as he slightly bowed to Vader.

“Thank you, my lord.”

He shot him an expectant glance, then headed towards the exit.

“Stay,” Vader ordered him. The boy sighed, but obeyed.

Vader took a step towards him, testing the waters. Like he had thought, the boy tensed and turned towards him warily. Still acting like a mouse trapped by a lothcat, then. What, by the Force, did he have to do to make him understand he didn’t need to fear him?

“I couldn’t help notice the change in your behaviour in the last week,” he said, taking care to keep his voice low and non-threatening. “I assure you, once more, that your prudence is not needed.”

“I don’t see what you are talking about,” the boy said, with a confidence that took Vader aback. “I’m just focusing on the training, nothing more.”

“Do not lie to me,” Vader snapped. “Do you take me for a fool? You have yet to utter an honest word, when before you had trouble holding your insolence in check.”

“I was under the impression you wanted me to hold my insolence in check... sir,” the boy answered, sounding confused.

Vader was struck speechless for an instant. He certainly couldn’t fault the boy for thinking so... so why did he miss his attitude now that it was finally gone?

“That never stopped you before,” he countered. “Nevertheless, while I commend you for your efforts, I must stress how important good communication is for you to learn.”

Lars scoffed, clearly about to say something, but he held himself back once more.

“I understand, sir.”

“Do you?” Vader asked. It took all of his self-control not to take another step forward in intimidation. He wanted the boy to stop being afraid of him, he reminded himself. “Then what were you just about to say, before you restrained yourself?”

A flash of irritation lit up in the boy’s eyes, and Vader knew he’d won this round...

“With all due respect, my lord, since you want to know so badly, I thought this was rich of you to say, considering your own communication skills,” Lars said. “It sometimes seems like all I manage to achieve is giving you murderous moods.”

“You would not have to worry about that if you stopped trying my patience so much,” Vader retorted, waving a finger in his direction.

“That’s exactly what’s I’m trying to do!” Lars retorted. “But it’s still not good enough, apparently!”

Once more, Vader didn’t quite know what to answer. The boy was right. He had wanted him to stop talking back to him, only to regret it once he had.

“I just... wish you weren’t so afraid of me,” he finally said. “I have told you time and again. I wish you no harm.”

Lars seemed about to say something else, then he stopped himself and sighed.

“Well, could have fooled me,” he muttered. “Sometimes it’s like you want me to be afraid...”

Vader didn’t miss the slight jerk upwards of his hand, before he stopped it from reaching his throat and brought it down again.

“I am aware of the wrongs I have caused you,” he replied. “Is it so difficult to believe I do not wish to repeat them?”

Lars looked at him, then averted his gaze.

“I will try, sir.”

He had closed himself off again, Vader noticed with growing frustration. This boy was impossible!

But he knew there was nothing more to be said. He waved for the boy to go, not trusting himself to speak without betraying his annoyance.

Still, he supposed they had made progress, he told himself as Lars was gone, and he forced himself to calm down. He hadn’t managed to extract half as many sincere words of him since the beginning of the week. Certainly, the boy still didn’t trust him, but it didn’t mean it was hopeless.

If only he could find a faster way to resolve things between them... Lars’ current mistrust was all too similar to the behaviour he’d exhibited before they had started training together, and this reminded Vader that he still had a thousand questions about his background. It had felt, at times, as if he had a secret to keep, something he didn’t want Vader to know... for example, who had falsified the midichlorians counts on his birth certificate, and why.

Yes, the boy was still full of mysteries, which Vader had ignored for too long. Furthermore, he knew his master was keeping his own tabs on the boy, now that he had taken an interest in him. It was in Vader’s own interest to make sure he disposed of the same information...

And, if there was any secret to be discovered, having it out in the open would give the boy one less reason to hide things from him.

Vader left the sims room, reviewing his best agents in his head and trying to decide who would be the most qualified for this.

*******

Luke stepped out of the shower and grabbed the towel, feeling much more relaxed. Sim sessions were often intense, especially when they were Force-related, but today had been particularly nerve-racking.

He dried his short hair, quickly donned his clothes, then hung his towel on the rack before leaving the ‘fresher, still thinking about Vader and his impossible assignment. No, he had to stop thinking about it as impossible, wasn’t it? Otherwise he would never manage to get it done.

But no matter how much he thought about it, he still couldn’t think of any way to achieve it. Not only was he alone against many enemies, but his lack of weapons was such a disadvantage... avoiding them was already a tall ordeal. To actually vanquish them, he’d need something close to superpowers...

He scoffed. Well, the Force was similar enough to one, he supposed. He just had to figure out how the hell to use it to his advantage, since he couldn’t go the easy way and just take control of the fighters via the operating system... He guessed he’d have to figure that out the next time he had a session with Vader, if he thought of nothing before then. Maybe the man would give him a hint.

With a start, he realised he wasn’t feeling as apprehensive at the idea as he had at the start of the week. For all his faults, the man was not such a bad teacher, and the familiarity of the setting, as well as curiosity, had lulled Luke into a sense of safety. He was still wary of Vader, of course: after everything he pulled on Luke, the young man flatly refused to let himself completely drop his guard again. But he was feeling more comfortable, in any case. He didn’t know if that was a good or a bad thing.

He also had no idea what to do with the man’s constant assertions that he would no longer hurt him. Sure, he seemed sincere enough, but how long would it last before he changed his mind again? Perhaps the most unpleasant thing about it all was how little Luke knew where he stood with Vader. What did he want with him? Why did he seem so eager to teach him one moment, only to reject him and threaten him the next? It made no sense at all, and Luke knew he wouldn’t be able to trust Vader until he understood what was happening in his head.

That being said, regardless of how dissatisfied Vader claimed to be with his new behaviour and lack of communication, Luke found their new dynamic to be quite comfortable. Sure, he’d never had to watch his words as closely as he did now, but it made their interactions much more peaceful. That was certainly a welcome change, even though Luke didn’t know how long he would still be able to hold it out.

It did require quite a lot of self-control on his end, and was part of the reason why he always left these sessions so exhausted.

He walked to his locker, opened the door to take his datapad and check his messages. He still had quite a few flight-related duties, especially now that they were preparing a battle, but right now he didn’t feel up to anything but reading his holomail.

He typed in his code, opened the door, and frowned. His locker was in more disarray than he remembered leaving it... A folder was left open against the wall, pieces of flimsi scattered around. His datapad was lying plainly visible on top of all the rest.

Luke closed the folder, vaguely put the flimsi pieces in a little pile, then seized the datapad and closed his locker before sitting on his bunk, lying against the metal headpiece and bringing his feet up on the mattress.

He must have let it in that state and forgotten about it... there was no other reasonable explanation. He was the only one knowing the code, after all... and why would people go looking around in his stuff? He’d checked, and nothing had been stolen. Everything was there, it was just a mess.

He tried to distract himself from the uneasy twisting of his guts by scrolling through his mails. It was probably nothing, anyway; he had been in a hurry this morning... His eyes moved down the screen. A few tactical notes, automatic agenda reminders, a message about a superior about Empire Day coming up in a few weeks – joy. 

Luke rather enjoyed the parades and the shows of the day, especially the aerial displays, but the pompous atmosphere of the celebrations he’d always found stifling. He supposed it was a reminder of his childhood, during most of which he’d been rather upset about having to share his birthday with the Empire. It hadn’t helped matters that Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru seemed to hold the official holiday in contempt. Nowadays Luke had learned to tolerate it better, and even appreciate it somewhat – not like he’d had a choice, with the career he’d picked. However, the constant reminder of how glorious the Empire was, and how grateful all and every citizen were for their service, still made him a little uncomfortable. Especially knowing lots of people didn’t feel that way... it was a time of the year when they had to be particularly alert, for many Rebel or civil protests took place for the occasion.

Luke was sorting his mails from “not important” to “urgent” when the sound of footsteps made him look up. To Luke’s great displeasure, it was Qorl who appeared on the doorstep.

“Shooting Star,” he greeted him with a cold nod. “It doesn’t really surprise me to see you lazing around.”

“Mind your own business,” Luke mumbled. “You’re probably there to do the same anyway.”

Qorl only shrugged, and indeed walked to his own locker. An absurd thought crossed Luke’s mind.

“Hey, did you by any chance happen to get into my things earlier? I found them all messy...”

Qorl snorted.

“Knowing you, they’re probably always messy,” he retorted. Luke had to concede the point, though much more grudgingly than he otherwise would have. What would have sounded like light-hearted banter from any of his other squadmates only came out of Qorl’s mouth as condescending. “That, or someone’s watching you. I’m not in the habit of picking locks.”

Luke frowned.

“Why would someone be watching me?”

“Oh, I don’t know – because you’re unreliable, you could be a traitor, and you can’t be trusted?”

Luke rolled his eyes.

“Whatever.”

He returned to his datapad and ignored the other pilot’s actions as much as he could, hoping he would leave him alone.

Finally, after what seemed like ages to Luke, his wish was granted, and Qorl closed his locker’s door before heading towards the exit, a stack of laundry in his arms.

“Well, I need to get going,” he said. “Have fun wasting your time doing whatever idle thing you’re doing.”

“I’m working,” Luke grumbled as Qorl left without waiting for an answer. He was so irritated by the other pilot’s animosity. Was it so hard to leave him alone?

With an exasperated sigh, he rose up and put on his boots, deciding he would probably be more comfortable finishing this in the couches of the main room. Maybe he could get himself a cup of caf, too. Nothing to do with guilt at Qorl’s word pushing him to leave his bed.

He didn’t care about that prick, he was in a soaring mood, and there was no way in hell he was letting him get to him.


	22. Close call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know proper authors reread and edit their chapters properly before posting them, but I'm not a proper author, and I'm starting uni again tomorrow so I really wanted the chapter out tonight. I'll edit properly tomorrow when I get back. In the meantime, enjoy!

Breathe in. Points of light swirled around him, illuminating the darkness of infinity. The universe pulsed, moved to make place for him, the gleaming orbits of virtual planets dancing around him.

Breathe out. Red bolts shot at his defenceless ship, fighters rushed towards him. His hands gripped the controls, his palms sweaty under his gloves. He jerked left, upwards, down. By reflex, his thumbs found his weapons’ controls and he fired, but of course, nothing came out.

Breathe in. One of the enemies’ projectiles flew by just a hair away from him, and he did a barrel roll in a desperate attempt to avoid it. He did his best to sink himself deeper in the Force as he felt his grasp on it weaken. But it was hard to keep his heart from accelerating, his jaw from tightening, his breath from quickening.

Another shot came at him from behind. He jerked upwards, tried to locate the ship and move away from its line of fire; but before he could go far, another blast bolt arrived and everything went black.

Luke let out his breath, fighting against the scream that begged to be set free from his throat. He rose from his seat, took a few agitated steps, all the while trying to calm his frantic heartbeat.

“Eighteen minutes and thirty-six seconds. You are getting better,” said Vader.

Luke didn’t answer, fearing to say something he’d regret. He knew being insolent again would only cause him trouble, like it always had, but it was growing more and more difficult to refrain from yelling at his teacher for giving him such an impossible exercise.

He’d tried his best. He had lost count of how many times he’d taken place into the sim, run the program, only to get blasted after a few minutes. It was maddening. He had the impression there must be a trick, something he should do to make the ships combust spontaneously or destroy each other, but he had always failed to find it. He wished Vader would just tell him the solution, instead of leaving him hanging like this...

But asking for it felt like abandoning. It was the first time he was assigned such a difficult thing to do, and he certainly wouldn’t give up so quickly. Even if the temptation was great.

With another loud exhale, he let himself fall down on the bench and run a hand on his face.

“Do you want to stop already?” asked Vader.

“No,” quickly answered Luke, despite how much he wanted to say the contrary. _Yes. This is impossible. I can't do this._ But Vader had already let him know what he thought of such complaining. “I just need a break.”

He took a deep breath and tried to relax, refraining the powerful feeling of defeat that was threatening to rush over him. _I'll never be able to figure it out._

“You are frustrated,” said Vader. “The lack of results is making you angry.”

Luke nodded, but didn’t give him any details. Vader had taken that habit to try and guess what he was feeling and thinking, or perhaps he was sensing it through the Force, Luke wasn’t sure. He didn’t care a lot for it; it felt a little too much like reading his thoughts for his comfort, and Luke had reasons to want his commanding officer away from those.

At the same time, this felt like a different, more vulnerable side of Vader. These quiet guesses, at times, sounded like Vader was merely attempting to ask him what was on his mind. He was trying to connect, in a clumsy way Luke was starting to suspect was the only manner he knew to.

He would have answered the query, if he didn’t know how badly Vader tended to react to his speaking his mind.

“Perhaps you need to do something else,” suggested Vader.

He approached the settings panel, selected a few options Luke was too far to see. He banished the temptation to just take a step and look in a corner of his mind, cursing his curiosity.

Then Vader straightened, and to Luke’s surprise, headed to the cockpit next to the one he had just occupied.

“In the simulator, Ensign.”

“My lord...?” asked Luke, confused. What was he up to now?

“Some dual exercise would do you good. You are my wingman, after all. I need you to be able to keep up with me.”

 _You bet I can,_ Luke thought, unable to repress a grin as he threw Vader a challenging glance. He didn’t have to be told twice before slipping into place, excited anticipation building in his stomach.

Oh, he’d show him. He had no doubt he’d be able to follow Vader in whatever manoeuvre he decided to take him. He’d show him just how well he could fly.

The countdown started. Luke kept his gaze set on it, careful to keep his breathing regular. He reached for the Force, pulled it to him to calm himself.

Then the numbers reached zero. A background of stars opened in front of Luke, who dove among them, feeling the environment out. He remembered his assignment, and flew in circles, seeking Vader out.

_Stay behind me._

Luke immediately recognised the twirls of smoke that reached out for him, and he locked his own presence with Vader’s. Following the man’s dark curls of Force allowed him to find his ship without any difficulty. He positioned himself next to him, slightly behind. Vader was flying in long and slightly curved strides, easy to follow, for Luke to adapt to him.

_Are you ready?_

Luke bit his lip absent-mindedly and nodded, all but forgetting Vader couldn’t see him. That didn’t seem to disturb the man, however, who started taking sharper turns, increasing both speed and agility. Luke let a smirk form on his face as he effortlessly imitated him.

If that was how he hoped to lose him, he’d be in for a surprise.

Only a short time after, enemy ships started appearing into the distance. Luke stayed in place at Vader’s side, preparing for the onslaught. The Force was still twisting around them both, surrounding them in a flickering bond of light and shadows.

_Cover for me._

_Yes, sir,_ answered Luke.

He was nearly thrown off when Vader jerked on the right, and only managed to follow his sharp turn by reflex. Further in front of them, two X-Wings were aiming for them. Luke had to pull up to avoid the first volley of fire.

He shot back, and was greatly relieved to find out his weapons worked this time. But, remembering Vader’s orders, he didn’t leave his side to try and pursue the enemy. Instead he remained sagely behind him, watching out for any ships aiming at his commanding officer.

Finally the enemy squadron arrived at their level, and any thought drifted to the back of Luke’s mind, replaced by immediate reaction.

He dove, flew to the right, came back. In front of him, Vader was spinning and diving as well, letting escape bolts of deadly fire from time to time. Luke was far enough behind that he could see the other ships coming at his back. He made sure to keep them at bay, enjoying his weapons responding to him and scattering the ships to pieces.

But he didn’t have much time to dwell on this satisfaction. Vader was fast, and Luke had to use all his concentration to keep up with him. He kept an eye at him at all time, all the while surveying his surroundings. In a corner of his mind, the mental connection they had always shared lay dormant. It flared from time to time, helped him keep track of Vader.

He plunged, shot, rose far from the remains of the ship he’d taken down. Vader was still dancing his deadly dance, and Luke accompanied him, more and more at ease with the steps. They would fly closer, farther, then closer again, fireworks of exploding aircraft on their path.

It was an incredible sensation, to know with such certainty where Vader would go next, what he would do, to predict the movements of his craft without mistake. Sometimes Luke even got the impression Vader would adapt to _him,_ react to his own movements and intentions. He wasn’t always sure who was initiating the movements; all that mattered was that they were always together, without fail. 

Then Vader disappeared. Thrown aback, Luke did a loop, certain he must have vanished behind him, searching him in his scopes – which were unresponsive, he realised with some awe. All this time they had worked without instruments...

He jerked aside to avoid a bolt of fire, did a turnaround. A little further, Vader was grappling with two ships, holding them at bay with virtuosity. Luke darted to join him. He swept in, destabilised an enemy, fired at the second while Vader destroyed the first.

The simulation stopped. Numbers showed up on the dark screen, and Luke gaped when he saw how many enemies the two of them had been grappling with, as well as the time it had taken them to vanquish them all.

The exercise had taken less than fifteen minutes.

“Whew,” Luke said under his breath.

He looked up to see Vader walking up next to him.

“For a first time, that was not too bad,” he said, but Luke could feel an undercurrent of pride in the bond still open between them. “I hope some of your frustrations have found an outlet.”

“That was... _wow,_ ” repeated Luke, unable to find the right word to express all his awe and admiration. “You really are a wicked pilot.”

He couldn’t see Vader’s face, but from the posture of his body and the tilt of his helmet, he could have sworn his commanding officer was smiling.

“You are not so bad, yourself,” he answered, echoing a conversation Luke vaguely remembered having with him, long ago. “I do not regret taking you as my wingman.”

“Yeah,” Luke said, feeling his chest warm up with pride at the compliment. “You know, I used to think I was a pretty decent pilot, but seeing you fly sets a whole different goal.”

“With time and practice, I have no doubt you will surpass me one day, young one.”

Luke looked down and smiled at the nickname. He remembered the terror hearing it had once inspired in him, knowing Vader had used it as a way to belittle and intimidate him. It was the first time he could hear such fondness in the two simple words.

“When did you fly for the first time?” he found himself asking before he could help it.

He bit his lip and averted his gaze. What had possessed him? Vader never volunteered information about himself. Such personal questions... that was just asking for trouble.

Vader remained silent. Holding his breath, Luke shot him anxious glances, the old fear of being killed in the next three seconds rising in him. He was about to apologise when Vader replied.

“I do not remember,” he said. “It has always been part of my life, one way or another.”

Luke nodded, surprised both by the answer, and the fact there was one at all.

“Same for me,” he said, smiling in wonder at this small shared thing. His mind was full of fond and carefree memories. “I was always racing down the canyons on Tatooine.”

Vader nodded.

“Dangerous, but stimulating.”

Luke threw him an incredulous glance.

“You’ve been on Tatooine?”

Vader crossed his arms in front of him. Luke slightly recoiled, feeling the question, this time, was not well received.

“I... know of it,” Vader brushed off, before continuing, if that was possible, in what sounded like a softer tone to Luke. “Tell me more about your life back then.”

Luke shrugged. Alarm bells rang in his mind at the thought of giving Vader more information about himself than he ought to, but they were less acute than usual. Their exchange was so much more peaceful than he was used to, it felt nearly surreal. Luke didn’t want to ruin the moment.

“There’s not much to tell,” he said. “It was always dry, always hot. Binary suns will do that to you... I liked to watch them set. It was my promise that one day I’d leave for good and travel through the stars.”

“A dream you have fulfilled.”

Luke tilted his head and looked down, wondering if he was imagining the undercurrent of bitterness in Vader’s contemplative words.

“Yeah... but not really, either,” he said. “I always thought I’d just leave that rock behind and never come back. But since I’m away from it, I realise it’s a whole part of me. The sand on my face, the hot wind blowing, the endless desert... it’ll never leave me.”

“You wish to go back?” asked Vader, sounding like he couldn’t believe that. Luke frowned.

“No,” he answered. “One day, maybe. Not now.”

He started when Vader took a step away, his cape swirling in the brusqueness of the movement. What had he said now?

“It is pointless to dwindle in the past,” the cyborg snarled, with a violence that surprised Luke. “It is gone. You will never find it back.”

“I know that,” Luke defended himself. “Doesn’t mean I can’t think about it. It’s where I grew up, where my family is...”

“Delusions,” Vader growled. “One day you will wake up. You will realise your family, your precious home, are nothing but ashes, and it will be too late. You can count on nothing but what you have in the present, what you built by yourself.”

Luke paled.

“What do you mean? Do you know something about them? Are they in danger?”

Vader made an exasperated gesture of his hand, and Luke immediately fell quiet, his heart hammering in his ribs.

“No. That is not what I meant,” he said, his voice a little softer. “Do not concern yourself.”

Luke relaxed the tiniest bit, but Vader’s words still puzzled him.

“Then what did you mean?”

The leather of Vader’s gloves cracked, as his fists tightened.

“Nothing. You should forget about it.”

He turned back towards Luke and looked him up and down for a long time, probing him through the Force. Luke didn’t move an inch, confused and uncomfortable.

“There will be no more lessons needed until you have mastered the weaponless exercise,” he said.

Then he left the room, leaving behind a dumbfounded Luke, who stared at the simulator’s screen, still faintly glowing with their results, for a long time.

*******

“Black Three, standing by.”

“Black Five, standing by,” Luke repeated after Boomer. He kept his ship in the formation, to the right and a little bit behind Vader, flying in a straight line to their target. 

Luke had seen pictures of Rindia’s green and grey surface, some patches of blue under the swirling clouds. The image he now had under the eyes lacked all these colours. Hidden from the brightness of its star, only small dots of artificial lights stood up amongst the shadows of the night.

They descended a few meters, let the lamps guide them in direction of the city. Without being small, it wasn’t the biggest city Luke had ever seen, either; and he had grown up on Tatooine. The streets seemed sinuous and small, the lighting irregular over its surface.

“Black Squadron, get in position,” Vader ordered.

They separated in two groups, still going forward on their path, on the watch for potential defenders. Luke stayed close behind his commanding officer, a knot of anxiety building up in his stomach.

“Gamma Squadron, prepare to go in.”

“Roger, Black Leader,” Gamma leader answered.

Taking care not to wander too far, Luke started making circles in the air, feeling the tension of expectation rise around him. So far, the journey had been calm, but it was only a question of time before that change. By now, the Rindians must have been alerted to their presence...

As if on cue, his scopes started to emit a warning beep.

“All fighters, here is Black Six, I have incoming,” he heard Dark Curse say, his craft a couple hundred meters in front of Luke.

“Black Squadron, defensive formation,” Vader replied. “Gamma Squadron, deliver first strike.”

They placed themselves all around the bombers, waiting for the enemy. Luke and Vader had taken place above them.

Then the first ships arrived, and they plunged into combat. Luke sank into the Force, connected with Vader, and launched in pursuit. They engaged a couple Rindians rushing towards them, easily took them down.

The flames of the explosion illuminated their surroundings. A coil of satisfaction that wasn’t Luke’s brushed against his mind, and he smiled before eagerly following Vader towards the next enemies.

They blocked three fighters who flew towards the bombers. Two of the enemy ships engaged them while the third tried to get round. Vader and Luke grappled with their assailants, and made sure to stop the other from reaching the bombers: Luke manoeuvred to send it to Vader, who in turn did the same.

It was a tight ordeal, and more than once Luke was sure he’d let the free fighter escape; but he felt Vader’s wordless instructions in his mind. He knew where he was, what he wanted, his body reacting instinctively, so that he wasn’t sure whether his own decisions or Vader’s presence through their bond guided more his movements.

At last Vader managed to shoot down his opponents, and engaged in proper dogfight with the last one, leaving Luke much space to breathe. In less than twenty seconds the boy’s own enemy was space dust.

Luke circled in the air, watching out for other fighters while doing his best not to let his attention get diverted by the sight under him. The darkness of night had subsided, chased away by the numerous flames and explosions of the bombs falling on the city. The silence accompanying the flashes of light felt out of place to Luke; if he let his mind wander, he could all too well picture the deafening noises, the cries of terror of the people trapped in the destruction. Smoke would be rising from the ruins, but they were too far above to be affected by it.

He took a breath, sought out Vader through the Force as a way to distract himself from the frantic lives running beneath him. His commanding officer’s dark presence acted as a cloud, shielding him from the carnage below to help him focus on the battle he was swept in.

A bit further, a TIE fighter was grappling with two Rindian fighters, struggling to avoid getting shot down. Without a thought, Luke rushed towards it. A couple well-placed blasts forced one of the enemies to move farther, and it turned towards Luke instead.

Luke led it away from his squad mate, only to bite back a curse when he realised two more enemies were coming their way. Before he had a chance to avoid them, they were on him, three on one.

Luke twisted, and turned, did barrel rolls after loops, but his breathing increased nonetheless. His control was slipping, he was sinking into more and more defensive moves, relying nearly only on instinct.

A blast bolt missed him by a hair, and he cursed, his hands shaking. His opponents were holding him tight: he couldn’t afford the slightest mistake, and yet he was bound to make one sooner or later. He couldn’t hold on like this forever.

Another shot had him jerk brusquely on the left, losing his balance and tumbling just in front of an enemy; his heart missed a beat, this was it, he braced himself for the light and the pain –

The ship exploded. Luke pulled up, and saw Vader’s advanced craft fly above his head. He swooped on another enemy before he could fire on Luke and destroyed it with great prejudice. Struggling to get back on track, Luke barely managed to shoot down the third of his enemies, before taking his place back at Vader’s side.

 _Thank you,_ he said, relief and gratitude overwhelming him when he realised Vader must have gone out of his way to save him. They were farther away from the bombers than he had thought.

 _Focus,_ he dryly replied. _The battle is not over._

Luke took a deep breath, feeling slightly chastised.

The next minutes happened in much the same way. He and Vader were incredibly in tune, their shared knowledge of the Force making them all but unstoppable. More than a bomber was saved by their intervention before the end of the mission.

Finally, Vader ordered for them to retreat. The city was alight with fire, much brighter than it once was. Luke looked straight ahead as they pulled up and ahead, back towards _Devastator._

Even after successfully manoeuvring it into its rack, he didn’t get out of it immediately, staring ahead and seeing nothing. His breathing was steady, but his heart was drumming against his ribs. He needed air.

He took off his helmet with great relief, then opened his cockpit. The hiss of the hatch opening was distant in his ears. Belatedly, it occurred to him that climbing a scale one-handed wasn’t the most practical thing to do, but he did it anyway. He really didn’t want to put his helmet back on.

Impaired by his burden, he stumbled lightly upon reaching the ground. His trembling hand settled against the hull of his ship for support. There was ash on the metal, he noticed, as if from afar.

All of a sudden a torrent of images pounded upon him, and he closed his eyes, leaning on his ship again. A mother hugging her child close, huddled in the corner of a street. A girl running, stopping as a flaming beam fell in front of her. Siblings shivering against each other in a basement, silent tears on their faces. An old man tumbling on his cane before he could reach the stairs, taken in the floor’s explosions. Civilians, who hadn’t asked for anything.

 _I did what I needed to,_ Luke thought with gritted teeth, fighting against the images. _It’s war. People die._ Never had he cursed his gift in the Force so much.

But another part of him couldn’t help remember Biggs’ accusations, so long ago. About civilians, prisoners, unnecessary cruelty.

What had this attack achieved?

 _Revenge,_ his mind provided, and he latched onto it. _For Chaser, Mauler, all of them._ Rindia had helped Rebels. They deserved to suffer for it, like they had. Punishment, a warning not to do it again.

He knew these things. But they seemed empty anyway, in the face of the violence his mind showed him in sparks.

One day it would end. One day they’d defeat the Rebels, and peace would come back. All of this... it would be over.

Luke held on to that thought, repeated it like a mantra. Anger and devastation ravaged his chest, resentment for these so-called freedom fighters, who brought nothing but death on the galaxy they claimed to want to save.

This had to stop. He would make sure it would.

He opened his eyes and straightened, swallowing the lump in his throat. The time of crying was over. Now he needed to fight.

He turned around to head towards their quarters, when his step faltered. Just a little farther, Qorl seemed to be walking towards him. Luke had no patience to deal with him at the moment.

But the more he approached, the more Luke realised this didn't seem to be the same Qorl he'd dealt with before. There was no aggression on his face, no mocking smile on his lips. Instead he looked at him with hesitation, unsure of himself. He opened his eyes as if to say something, then held out his hand instead.

“Thank you. For saving my life.”

Luke huffed, gave him a cold smile, though this hardness wasn't directed towards him.

“We're a squad,” he just said.

Qorl nodded, and Luke realised, a bit late, he hadn't taken his hand. He hoped the other wouldn't take it the wrong way; but at the same time, he found he didn't really care. Qorl pursed his lips, then smirked, in that expression Luke hated so much.

“I have to admit, I didn't expect it from you,” he said, a trace of admiration in his voice that wasn't enough to entirely pacify Luke. Yes, he knew that, he had noticed how much the other pilot didn't trust him. Leave it to Qorl to compliment and insult him all in one sentence.

“I know, I'm full of surprises,” he deadpanned, still smiling this smile that felt out of place on his face. Qorl's face fell, and he looked about to say something else, but Luke wasn't interested in hearing any of it right now. He walked past him, dreaming of a hot shower and his bunk.

He hadn't made ten steps when he saw Vader step out of his ship. Luke remembered Vader had saved his own life, too; he changed directions, intent on thanking him. 

Before he could open his mouth, Vader turned his head towards him, and they exchanged a gaze. Then he looked away and just strolled out of the hangar without a word, without even acknowledging Luke. The young man couldn't feel anything from him in the Force.

He gritted his teeth and curled his hands into fists, squeezing them so tight his nails got into his palms. The pain kept him grounded, helped him manage the sudden and potent anger deferling on him.

Not again. He was done with Vader's little act, done letting him discard him whenever he felt moody.

He followed the man's long strides out of the hangar.


	23. Unraveling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: After receiving a couple comments about the second section of the chapter, I made minor changes to it.

Vader stormed out of the hangar, cape flowing behind him as he walked in the corridors without conscious aim. His mind was a maelstrom of fear, pain, and above all scorching fury against himself.

Behind him, he heard the boy's footsteps following him, felt the probing tendrils of the Force against his mind. Unconscious boy, reckless, careless, without a hint of self-preservation. He had no idea what he was getting himself into; he had never stopped to _think_ long enough for that.

In his mind's eye Vader saw him rush unprotected towards his squadmate again, tackle more enemies than he could take in an effort to divert the threat. He saw his own skirmish against another ship, how close he was to getting his prey. Then he had heard the boy's alarm in the Force, noticed how dangerously close the enemy fire came to the hull of his craft.

He hadn't even thought. Before he knew it, he had been at the boy's side, chasing away the threats on his life with extreme prejudice. He still remembered the way his heart had stopped at the sight, the despairing terror at the thought of his ship going up in flames. Even now, the possibility that he might have been too late or have missed sent cold shivers in his veins.

It was going too far. _He_ had let it go too far. He couldn't afford this weakness any longer.

And the blasted boy kept following him. His light bled in the Force, suffocating with swirling emotions that unsettled Vader greatly and prevented him from thinking straight. He needed distance, to reconnect with his own mind and decide on a course of action... this couldn't go on.

He couldn't deal with this fear, the pain that would inevitably be coming once he lost him. He couldn't go through that again.

Better to stop it all now.

“Lord Vader!”

At the boy's call, he stopped. His hand moved to his hip, unhooking his lightsabre.

He needed to do it, now. He had to achieve what he could never resolve himself to do before. It was the only way.

“Lord Vader, you –“

The boy paled when Vader turned around, wide eyes staring at the weapon he held in his hand. He slowly put his hands up in the air, but didn't move back. A nervous huff escaped him, short and devoid of joy, and he looked up at Vader.

“Well that promise didn't last long.”

Vader didn't answer, but ignited the lightsabre and pointed it at his chest. He refused to rise to his bait. One blow – one single swipe, and it would be over.

The boy didn't start, didn’t jump, didn't move. He stared at him, blue eyes boring into his mask.

“Go on,” he dared him. “I guess I deserve it, anyway.”

His voice was shaking in the end, but he held himself straight, still looking at him unflinchingly. Once again, Vader saw other eyes in their place, brown instead of blue but just as determined, just as daring.

_I will not condone a course of action that will lead us to war._

He had the same shape of nose, the same tense set of the jaw expressing stubbornness. A bolt of pain shot through Vader's chest, and he clutched his weapon tighter. 

Why was the Force tormenting him so? What did it want to achieve? It was as if this boy had been sent to remind him of this past, all to painfully. He was just the same age as his child would have been, he was strong in the Force; he even looked like him, and Force, he had her expressions, her courage and her heart...

Would his unborn baby have been so strong, so bold? Would it have shaken Vader's world and wormed its way into his life the way Lars had?

His chest aching with an impossible longing, Vader lowered his blade. It was pointless. This boy was not his child, could never be his child.

But he found himself wishing he was.

Lars scoffed and brought his arms down, a small smirk on his face that barely hid his relief.

“Knew it. If you really wanted me dead you'd have killed me a long time ago.”

Vader didn't answer. He disengaged the blade and attached the lightsabre to his belt again.

Lars was right. He didn't want him to die, hadn't wanted that for a long time now. But he knew the Force had a way to mock these wishes and take his loved ones away. He couldn't afford to let anyone close again, and yet it seemed it was too late.

He cared too much about him already. There was nothing he could do to change that; nothing but teach him all he could, protect him to the best of his ability.

With that new resolve in mind, his thoughts latched on the boy's words, and a chill ran down his spine. He frowned under his mask.

“You think you... deserve death?”

Lars shrugged, looked away.

“Pretty sure I do, by Imperial standards,” he said, his tone too light for it to be sincere.

Another unpleasant rush of pain crossed Vader's heart. He crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“Explain,” he growled. Were he to find out the boy was a traitor – that he'd betrayed _him_ , so soon after being offered mercy...

Lars closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“I can't do this anymore,” he said, looking at Vader. His voice was strong, as if this was something he'd held a long time inside himself. “Rebels are one thing. But these people down there... you must have felt them, too. They haven't done anything wrong.” 

He stopped, swallowed before speaking again. There was fear in his eyes, but also determination. Vader's heart clenched. 

“I know we're at war. I know I'm just a soldier and I need to follow orders. But I can't just be a silent cog in the machine. The Empire is not perfect, I've always known this. And I want the war to end as much as everyone else, if not more. But this... this is not the way.” 

His right hand was fidgeting with his left sleeve. Vader could feel his anxiety in the Force, but also his disgust for what he had witnessed, his guilt for his part in it. He was so determined not to let this unsaid, to try and do something about it, despite the consequences for himself. Vader watched him for a long time, not sure how to respond, a thousand painful remembrances flooding his memories. Forbidden words were forming in his mind, that he had already told someone else, long ago. They flew out of his mouth before he could think them through. 

“What if there was... another way?” 

The boy looked up at him with a confused expression. 

“What do you mean?” 

Vader took a step towards him, probing their surroundings to make sure they were alone. Anticipation was raging in his chest, and he had to force himself to keep quiet. This was it, the opening he had waited for so long. 

“Do you remember my first offer?” 

Lars frowned, slowly shook his head. 

“I offered to teach you the true power of the Force, to be more than a mere pilot. You still do not realise the extent of your potential. Together, we could do many great things... turn the tide of this war, for one...” 

He hesitated, knowing his next words would change everything, crystallise all the half-admitted thoughts he had harboured. 

“... we could change this Empire for the better.” 

An image unwillingly passed between them, a decaying corpse ran through by a red lightsabre. Lars' eyes widened, doubtlessly understanding the unsaid significance of these words. 

“You mean a...” 

He stopped himself before saying it, wisely; Vader wouldn't have let him express it outright. Corridor surveillance cameras were image only, but this was too dangerous for the slightest risk to be taken. 

“Yes,” Vader confirmed. “The thought has been on my mind since I met you. That is why I have been distant at times; this endeavour is not something lightly considered.” 

A half-truth, conveniently omitting the conflicting feelings that had been battling within him ever since he had learnt to know the boy, and that he didn't feel ready to examine too closely. Still it seemed enough for Lars, who nodded silently. 

“I just want for this war to end,” he whispered. “For the bloodbath to stop...” 

“The Empire has committed many wrongs towards its citizens,” Vader admitted. “But together, we could correct that. We could end this conflict once and for all.” 

Lars was staring at him, unmoving, but his presence in the Force was flaring like an agitated star. Vader extended his hand to him, his own tendrils of smoke reaching out in the same movement to entwine with the boy's bursts of light. 

“Let me teach you, and we will make the galaxy into what we want it to be.” 

For a long time they stood looking at each other. Trying to curb his anticipation, Vader forced himself to watch Lars in silence as the boy hesitated and warred with himself, clearly conflicted. Then the boy's bright presence calmed down and retracted on himself as he came to a decision. Had he been able to, Vader would have held his breath. 

His heart missed a beat when Lars nodded, a small, nearly undetectable movement. Both of them could feel the significance of the moment, what it meant for the other. Their bond had become nearly tangible, linking them beyond words and thoughts. The Force was swirling around them, a storm of light and shadows spiralling around them in expectancy. 

Then, to Vader's great surprise, the boy didn't take his hand. Instead, prompted by the currents of the Force, he slowly lowered himself to one knee and bowed his head. 

“I will learn what you will show me, so we can stop the war and bring back the peace.” 

Vader let his triumph broadcast through the Force. He took a step forward and put his hand under his elbow to signal him to rise. Lars stood and looked up at him again, resolve clear in his blue eyes. Vader's hand didn't leave his forearm. 

He wanted to offer him promises of greatness, to tell him of everything they could achieve together. He wanted to say how far he would bring him, all the things he would be able to achieve one day. He could see his potential so clearly now, possibilities and pathways of the future unfolding before him. 

Instead he merely squeezed his arm, and knew the boy understood when he smiled. 

*******

Lyra checked the coordinates of the planet, then started her descent. It was here. She shot a look of distaste at the brown and ochre planet. She had known Tatooine was a desolate planet in more ways than one, but seeing it with her own eyes made everything more real. 

She wrinkled her nose. It was difficult to imagine that one or two hundred thousands citizens of the Empire lived on this wasteland. She had grown up in the Core, and couldn't fathom how these people could stand such an inhospitable environment instead of the mountains, forests, oceans, and proximity to Imperial Centre she had been used to. 

She started her descent, looking for the closest Imperial outpost, situated close to a tiny town that Lyra's data told her was called Bestine, likely the capital. Her codes were up to date, and she had no problem landing in the protected area. Had she expected concrete or asphalt, she would have been disappointed. The landing docks, if you could call them that, were made of sand just like the rest of the planet. 

She sighed and put on her protective cloak, glad she'd had the insight of braiding her long and thick hair extra tight today, bringing it back around her skull. Not for the first time, she reflected it would perhaps be more practical to cut it short, but she never could resolve herself to do it. Taken in the sometimes impersonal machine of the Empire, home culture and traditions became even more important; especially when your job was to be a spy and a detective. Like many Alderaanians, Lyra found the idea of fighting unsavoury, but that hadn't prevented her from wanting to contribute to the great galactic association that had been the Republic, now the Empire. She had found investigating to be the perfect way to serve for about thirty years now. 

She went outside her ship, and headed towards the outpost. It was an old and worn building made of some kind of whitish stone, far from giving the impression of domination and strength Lyra had witnessed from Imperial outposts on other worlds. She sighed. Better get this over and done with so she could leave this planet as soon as possible. 

She entered, and was greeted by a lone Stormtrooper at a desk. 

"Good afternoon, ma'am. What can I do for you?" 

"I would like to check the population registry," she answered, holding out her badge for him to check. 

He threw it a quick glance. 

"What year?" 

"First year of the Empire." 

Lyra watched with distaste as the trooper took an old dusty folder from the shelf, brushed the sand away from it, and held it out to her. 

Of course their records wouldn't be computerised, she thought, skimming through the cracking sheets of flimsi. Thankfully, she found the document she was looking for at the start of the folder. 

The boy was, after all, born on the first Empire Day. 

She read the data, noticed the document's similarity with the one her employer had given her. Luke Lars, nearly nineteen years old, of father and mother unknown. He lived with Owen and Beru Lars on a moisture farm, and was far below the blood standards for Force-sensitivity. She knew all this already. 

Just as she knew there was something fishy about it. 

But for the life of her, she couldn't pinpoint what. The document was in order, every formality was respected, and the flimsi looked as old as it ought to be. 

She pinched her nose, thinking. Of course this couldn't be as easy as she would like it to be. This journey to the desert planet was already a desperate measure, after trying to find information in other ways. But even his locker hadn't held anything of note. She'd had to acknowledge that, if he was hiding anything, then he probably hadn't concealed it close to the Empire. 

Which left Lyra on this less than pleasant trip on a scorching planet, looking through decades-old flimsi for the slightest hint of something wrong. She had hoped the original document might give her more information. Obviously she had been wrong. 

But that didn't mean everything was over. 

She turned a few pages, disregarding marriage, moving, and death documents, and looking specifically for birth certificates. Surely the boy hadn't been raised in seclusion. He must have had friends, gone to school. 

Two children held her attention, Windy Starkiller and Camie Marstrap, who lived not too far from his farm. 

"Do you know where I can find these people?" she asked the trooper, showing her the two files. 

He looked at it and shrugged. 

"I don't really meddle with the locals, ma'am. But I bet you'll find them easily. Anchorhead is really small." 

It must be, if it's even smaller than this city, Lyra nearly replied. Instead she asked the man for the coordinates of the town and gave him back the folder with a thanks. 

Fifteen minutes later, she landed on the outskirts of Anchorhead. It was, indeed, even tinier than Bestine. She asked around for Starkiller and Marstrap, but often only met distrusting glances. She knew most inhabitants of Tatooine didn't like the Empire, which is why she had left her uniform in her ship in exchange for something more neutral, but that didn't seem to help much. 

"You'll have the most chances of finding them at Tosche Station," an old man finally told her. "That's where all the kids gather these days. I heard the Fixer and young Camie finally got engaged. About time!" 

Without asking who the Fixer was, Lyra hastened to search for the building, which would have been easy to find if not for the lack of insignia or indication anywhere. 

When she entered the station, she had to blink at the sudden change in brightness. Local music was playing out of old speakers. 

"Hi," the man at the counter addressed her, a hand still on the thigh of the young woman sitting in his lap. _Charming._ "What can I do for you?" 

He was tall, and had tanned skin, black hair and a beard, like a lot of people on this planet. It made Lyra wonder that the young pilot she was researching was so fair-haired, but then, genetics were something mysterious. 

Unless, that is, he wasn't a Tatooine native at all. Her employer had specifically asked her to research his origins... 

"I'm looking for Windy Starkiller or Camie Marstrap," she asked. 

"I'm Camie," the woman said, sitting up. "What is it? I've never seen you around these parts." 

"That's because I'm not from here. I'm looking for information about a schoolmate of yours, Luke Lars." 

She had pondered coming up to them with a well-rounded story to avoid suspicion, but had eventually decided on a different strategy. She was doing perfectly legal work, and her employer had said nothing to her about stealth. Besides, word coming back to the young man that a stranger was asking after him at home would likely not cause any real problem. To the contrary: his correspondence was watched closely, and his reaction to such news would no doubt be enlightening. 

Fixer and Camie exchanged a puzzled glance that Lyra didn't fail to notice. 

"You won't find him here. He's gone for the Academy," the man said. 

"The Imperial Academy?" Lyra said, pretending to be surprised. "He's a Stormtrooper?" 

"No, the Flight Academy," Camie answered her. "Such hopeless dreamers, he and Biggs both. Never could keep their feet in the ground." 

Fixer squeezed Camie's thigh, and she threw him an exasperated glance. That was information he didn't want her to give out, then. 

Lyra knew the name of Biggs Darklighter. He and Lars had been inseparable during their training, until they had been stationed on different ships after graduation. She had already made a note of it in her file. 

She put it away in a corner of her mind. 

"Oh," she said, a pout of disappointment on her lips. Time to try a different strategy, then; truth was good, but it had its limits. She made sure to look at Camie. In her experience, women tended to trust her more. "That's a shame. I'm an old friend of Luke's family. I was unaware of his existence until recently... How is he like?" 

Neither Camie nor Fixer relaxed visibly, but she knew they were processing the information and would either refuse her outright or give her what she wanted. 

"Biggs knew him better than us," Camie finally said. Lyra had to force down her satisfaction. "He was always with his head in the sky, dreaming of that father of his." 

"What did he tell you about his father?" 

"Said he was a freighter pilot, the kind of guy you find in every spaceport," Fixer chimed in. "But he was fascinated by him. Never knew much about him though, except he supposedly died. Fled and never came back, more like." 

Lyra nodded. So, no more information on that front; the kids visibly didn't know their former classmate so well, and certainly not enough for them to be able to provide her with what she was looking for. Time to leave, then. 

"Sounds like him," she said, staying as vague as he could. "Thank you for your answers. I hope I'll be able to meet Luke soon... it's really too bad I couldn't see him." 

The couple nodded and mumbled a goodbye, that Lyra returned before going out. 

That hadn't happened so well, she reflected, bringing back her hood over her head to protect herself from the suns. Something she had said early in the exchange had made them tick, brought them on their guard, and she had no idea what it was. Furthermore, even aside from that, it was obvious they had only known Lars from afar. 

She shivered despite the heat. She had to find more information on him. She didn't want to think about what would happen if she came back empty-handed. 

Asking Lars' aunt and uncle about it was out of the question. Whatever it was he was hiding, they were certainly in league with him. She would have followed the trail the two young people gave her and searched for Biggs Darklighter, but she knew she had no more chance to find him here than Lars himself. 

But maybe she could ask Darklighter's parents. She didn't think they would be much more forthcoming than Lars' classmates, but who knew what their son had told them. 

It would be tricky, but it was worth a try. Better that than to find nothing... 

Much like the Larses, the Darklighters lived outside the town, in the desert. Lyra didn't like the idea of going out so far in the wilderness, but maybe she could use it to her advantage. 

She discarded her shuttle for the trip, and rented a speeder instead. It was a real scam, but she didn't have the time to bargain more than the strict minimum. A few meters flown on it made her turn around and purchase a pair of goggles as well. She couldn't see with all the sand flowing in her face. 

The way to the Darklighters' homestead was not so long, but it felt like forever to her. She was tired and dishevelled at the end of her trip. It served her plans, she reminded herself. She left the speeder and approached the house. 

"Hello?" she called blindly, leaning over the outside wall. "Is there someone here?" 

She wouldn't go so far as to say the homestead was beautiful, but it certainly seemed bigger and more comfortable than most of the buildings she had seen until now. The owners must be richer than the average Tatooine local. 

She called a few more times before she finally had an answer. 

"Who are you?" 

She turned around to see an old and rather stout man walk towards her, white hair coming out of his sun hat: most probably Huff Darklighter. He looked friendly enough, to Lyra's relief. 

"My name is Yana Lidrath," she lied. She always had a false identity on hand, even in cases like this where it probably wasn't needed. It was a habit she had taken; unless the person needed to know her real name, she didn't give it away. "You are Mr. Lars?" 

"Oh, no, the Larses' farm is further in the west, near the Jundland Wastes," the man said. 

"Oh," Lyra answered, her face falling in disappointment and dismay. Her impression of a kicked puppy must have been convincing, for her interlocutor laughed softly. 

"But you look like you could use a glass of water," he offered. "Do you want to come inside for a while and cool down before going back on your way?" 

"That would be appreciated, yes," Lyra answered, glad her plan was working. 

Darklighter welcomed her inside and offered her a choice between water and blue milk. Lyra knew how expensive water was on Tatooine, and that it was expected of a good guest to take the milk, so she did that, even though it didn't look too appealing to her. 

"So," Darklighter sat down in front of her. "Tell me, what are you going to the Larses for?" 

"I'm looking for their nephew," Lyra answered, deciding to stay with the story she'd told the youths at the station. She hoped what little she'd learnt would be enough to keep the pretence up. "I was a friend of his father before he passed away. I just found out he had a child, and I wanted to meet him." 

Darklighter gave her an apologising smile, his eyebrows rising. 

"You're out of luck today," he said. "Luke's a pilot in the Imperial Navy. He's left the planet long ago." 

Lyra closed her eyes with a sigh. 

"Well this is decidedly not my day," she said. "I can't say that surprises me, however, if he is anything like his father." 

Her interlocutor nodded. 

"You knew Anakin well?" 

Lyra shrugged, taking note of the name of the boy's father. 

"A little," she said, adding an embarrassed laugh for good measure. "We worked on the same freighter for a while. It was long ago, but I thought I'd check on the kid... for old times' sake." 

"I understand." 

Darklighter's smile hadn't left his face as he nodded politely, but Lyra wasn't a detective for nothing. She could read people. Right now, her instincts were telling her that something had brought the old man on his guard. 

She reviewed her words in her head. Had she slipped up, was there something she'd said that had awakened his suspicion? 

Hmm. Another thought came to her mind. Perhaps she had just lowered in his esteem. If he took her for the boy's mother, perhaps she could find a way to use that assumption. 

"I haven't seen him in so long..." she whispered, her eyes down to give the impression she was talking to herself, but still loud enough for Darklighter to hear. 

She swallowed, then crossed the older man's gaze again. She didn't like to stop looking at others' faces for too long, and risk missing any important reactions. Unfortunately, Darklighter's expression was still unreadable. 

"You could leave him a note, tell him where to find you when he's in permission." 

She rested her head on her hand. 

"Maybe..." She pretended to consider the idea. "But would he even know about me? What does he know about his parents?" 

The man frowned, and she inwardly cursed. 

"Not much, I believe. They died when he was just a baby." 

"Really?" Lyra asked. "Surely there must have been stories... Anakin Lars was someone exceptional." 

All of a sudden, Darklighter's eyes became icy, all trace of friendliness disappearing from his face. Lyra started. 

"Not that I know of." He rose up. "I need to go back to the fields; I still have some work to do on the vaporators." 

She imitated the movement. 

"Oh, yes, I am keeping you," she hastened to say. "I apologise. I will be on my way." 

"Yeah," Darklighter answered. 

He half accompanied her, half threw her outside. She thanked him for his hospitality, expressed her regret not to have been able to meet Luke, then sped out of the property as fast as she could without it being suspicious. 

The whole way, she thought about the exchange. Darklighter had seemed to close up the more she talked... but she couldn't figure out where she had gone wrong. 

There was a secret behind this, she realised. Something big. And like her employer had told her, it involved Luke Lars' past; his father, to be precise. 

But what good was this realisation if she couldn't make anything of it? Whatever this secret was, it was well kept. Darklighter had seemed aware of it, but not Lars' friends. How was she supposed to find out anything if all the people who knew refused to tell her? 

It was nearly dark when she came back to her ship, exhausted, a coil of anxiety in her stomach. She had no ideas left, and she still hadn't found out what Lars was hiding. Her employer would be angry... and she knew what happened to people who made him angry. 

She took a deep breath, relishing her ability to do just that, and massaged her collarbone. _Don't despair. Think._ There must have been other people who had heard about Lars' parents... Apparently, he talked a lot about his father as a child. She needed to find other people who knew him when he was small, and who could disclose information... 

A thought came to her mind, not extremely promising, but it was something all the same. There was an Imperial school nearby that must have kept records. If she was lucky, maybe she could even talk to his former teacher... 

She would do that tomorrow, she decided, before collapsing on her pillow. 

The temperatures on Tatooine were far more pleasant in the morning, she decided as she headed to the school. She no longer wondered at the antiquated state of the building; they seemed to all be the same on this planet. 

She arrived at the school during break time, and was warmly welcomed by the teachers even as she showed them her badge. It was nice not to have to beat about the bush, and to make her inquiries clearly. Unfortunately, that didn't mean it was the end of her frustration. 

"Luke Lars?" the fifth grade teacher frowned. "I don't remember having anyone with that name in my class. But it does sound familiar. Are you certain you haven't made a mistake?" 

"Quite sure, yes," Lyra snapped. "Do you keep a record of your students? I would like to have a look at it." 

Fortunately, they did keep such a record. It was in a small and dusty room, but it no longer mattered to Lyra. She doubted she would find anything here, but searching was better than doing nothing. She would do everything in her power before admitting defeat. 

She searched through the different folders, which were kept by year, and then alphabetical order. She couldn't help a stab of disappointment when two times skimming through the letter "L" didn't reveal the boy's file. Had he been misplaced in another year? She was discouraged in advance by the idea of searching the whole room, but she would do it if she had to. Just to be thorough, she half-heartedly threw a look at the rest of the year, just in case it was closer than she thought. 

Her heart missed a beat when she found it. It was the same boy: although he was much younger, there was no mistaking his shy smile and striking blue eyes. She took it from the folder, still staring at it, certain there must be a mistake. 

"When students are first inscribed here, do you ask for their birth certificate?" she asked the teacher. 

"Always," the other woman replied. 

Lyra stared at the paper, answers clicking into place in her mind. That was why Darklighter had been startled when she had talked about Anakin Lars. There were still more questions than answers, but the pieces were coming together at last. This was huge. 

At least she no longer had to fear coming back empty-handed...


	24. Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand here we go... I want to thank all of you from all my heart for your comments, the response to the last chapter was overwhelming (but in an excellent way :D). I'm sorry to those of you I haven't replied to yet! I'll get around to them as soon as I can, they really made my day!
> 
> In the meantime, here's a certain chapter. I apologise in advance... :3

Luke gritted his teeth as he blocked the attack just in time. He parried, took a step back, dodged, attacked in turn, before bringing his sabre up again. Sparks flew between his blue blade and Vader's red.

“Use your anger,” Vader advised. “You are frustrated and tired, but you don't do anything with it.”

Luke parried again, then dove in, a desperate attempt to stop the endless blows Vader was striking him. He was swatted away like a pathetic fly.

“Again,” Vader said.

Luke's grip on his weapon tightened, a flare of irritation rushing through him. He threw himself at Vader, finally regaining some advantage. But he saw his opponent's next move half a second too late. A breath later, his lightsabre clattered on the floor. He massaged his aching wrist and went to pick it up, panting.

“Good, said Vader as Luke came back towards him. “You are making progress.”

Luke shot him a tired grin, slightly comforted by his words after the beating he'd taken. He knew they had only started training two weeks earlier, but it was a little discouraging to be constantly reminded of how much he still had to learn. Still, lightsabre practice might have been brutal and difficult, but most of the time, it was great fun.

Not right now, though. At the moment Luke felt like he'd been run over by a bantha.

“You're still totally destroying me,” he said, half joking.

A stab of annoyance in the Force was the only reaction he got. He frowned.

“Pay attention to your footing,” Vader advised. “You often keep your feet too wide open. It reduces your freedom of movement.”

Luke nodded, but didn't answer. Vader brought up his blade again, in a posture that would have been complete with a raised eyebrow. Luke imitated him with reluctance, exhausted, but not daring to protest.

As soon as he was ready, Vader came at him with renewed strength and speed. Luke had trouble keeping up with his pace. He twisted his blade right and left, barely catching all the blows, unable to strike back. His attention was no longer on his feet, too surprised by the violence of the attacks to focus on anything else. Powerless to keep his ground, he took a step back, then another, feeling himself lose control.

One blow more powerful than the others unbalanced him. He only just caught it on his blade, but stumbled under the shock and fell hard sitting on the ground. He groaned in pain and looked up, before freezing when he saw the tip of Vader's sabre pointed at his throat.

Vader sheathed his sword, and Luke relaxed. He took his sweet time getting back up and picking up his weapon again, dearly hoping Vader would stop the lesson now. He was tired, he was aching all over, he was out of breath, and his butt hurt.

He often felt completely spent after a training session, but his teacher usually wasn't quite this brutal with him. Today Luke felt more like a punching ball than a student.

Vader looked at him for a moment, then reached out an open hand in his direction. Luke couldn't help a wave of relief as he limped towards his teacher and placed the lightsabre in his palm. Vader closed his fingers around it.

His commanding officer had never been forthcoming with information about his past. But when among all the hilts Vader had offered him to choose from, Luke had found this one most adapted to his hand, Vader had looked at the weapon for a long while. He had then told Luke the blade had once belonged to his own teacher, before saying with a trace of bitterness that he knew Luke would make a better use of it. Luke had tried to get the rest of the story, but in vain.

The only thing he knew was that this sword, like all those he had been presented with, had once belonged to Jedi. Vader hadn't said how he had acquired them, but Luke knew of the Purge and of the Great Treason. It was lucky he was pretty sure his father had died before that, but he couldn't help wonder with a sliver of uneasiness whether one of these weapons had once been his, after all. Had he fallen at the very hand of Luke's instructor, what kind of son would that make Luke?

But Luke had no way to know. Several times, he had wondered about asking Vader, but he had always refrained himself. Being the son of a Jedi remained dangerous, and even now he knew he risked a death sentence by disclosing it. Besides, there was no way his father had betrayed the Republic. Luke was certain he would have seen the necessity of what he was doing. After all, they were pursuing the same goal: bring back the peace, and make the galaxy a better place.

Vader was now staring at the lightsabre with the same lost look he had worn that first day, and Luke felt curiosity rise in him again. He could hear the storm in Vader's thoughts, even though he didn't perceive words, just the wind of his emotions.

“Are you all right?” he asked, keeping his voice quiet. He only rarely asked Vader personal questions. Even something so simple as this could either be answered or send him in a rage, depending on his mood.

But Vader seemed to take his enquiries better lately. It was still as difficult to get answers from him, but at least he had no longer threatened his life since he had started training him for real. And he had been acting strangely during the whole lesson today. Luke would have lied if he'd said he wasn't the tiniest bit concerned.

Vader's grip on the lightsabre tightened.

“I am fine,” he replied, somewhat curtly. “You must not worry about me.”

“Is it about the Emperor's visit tomorrow? It'll be fine, I promise. I worked extra hard on my shielding.”

The Emperor always chose to honour a specific ship for the celebrations of Empire Day, and went to see the soldiers himself before spending the rest of the day on Imperial Centre for the festivities. This year he had chosen to bestow this honour on _Devastator,_ and while neither Luke nor Vader were particularly happy about it, they needed to act as if nothing was amiss. In prevision for that, they had worked hard to make sure Luke was in control of his mind.

Vader put the lightsabre away, shaken from his thoughts. He turned to Luke, and the young man couldn't help swallow, the remnants of old fear rising in his guts as Vader came closer. However, the instinctual reaction felt worn down and weak, and Luke had no problem putting it aside.

“Let me see,” Vader ordered, bringing up his fingers to Luke's temple.

Luke closed his eyes and pictured the bright suns of Tatooine. Vader's presence enveloped his, stifling and overwhelming; but Luke didn't let himself be disoriented by the sensation, which he knew well by now. He let Vader invade his mind and sift through his memories, keeping his breath steady, redirecting him subtly whenever he came too close to images he didn't want him to see.

After no more than a few seconds, Vader retreated and took a step back. Luke opened his eyes.

“It will do,” he said. “I do not think you will be in danger. You should remember, however, that the Emperor's presence is very different from mine. You will have to be on your guard constantly, for you might not even feel him inside your mind.”

Luke nodded, then huffed with a smirk.

“Mortal danger, what a great birthday present,” he joked.

Vader froze, clenched his fists. Luke was surprised by the sudden intensity of the emotion rushing through their bond.

“There will be _no such thing,_ ” he swore. “Nothing will happen to you.”

Luke blinked, unsettled by the outburst.

“All right,” he said. “All right. I believe you.”

They stood together for a while in awkward silence. Luke was burning with curiosity at Vader's odd behaviour, but he didn't dare ask about it again.

“Do not concern yourself with me, young one,” Vader finally said, his voice softer than before. “I am merely... not fond of the holiday. It will pass.”

Luke nodded. He could understand the feeling.

A comfortable silence settled between them. Luke caught himself thinking of the future and of the Empire, of how huge and daunting it always seemed, especially during the parades of Empire Day. He felt so tiny and insignificant in the middle of so much pomp.

“Will it really change anything? Our plans?” he asked, barely daring to voice it.

He had agreed to Vader's proposition in haste, in the grip of emotion. But doubt had seized him several times since then. It just seemed too easy, somehow, to take out one person and hope everything would be solved. The Empire was a huge system.

“It must,” Vader answered. “We will _make_ it change.”

It wasn't the answer Luke had expected, but he accepted it for now.

The whole prospect of getting rid of the Emperor and bringing back the peace was still surreal. They had talked about it here, in the safety of Vader's quarters, expressing their wishes and the changes they would make, but Luke couldn't see it anyway. Once or twice, Vader's words of freedom and of making everything right had managed to stir him, but whenever Luke thought about it on his own, he never managed to imagine himself as a ruler.

But he trusted Vader and his goodwill when he said the slaughter and the cruelty would stop. If he said this would help, then Luke would believe him. It was better than to do nothing at all.

“The lesson is over,” Vader said. “You are obviously exempt of it in the next days. In the meantime, practice what you have learnt.”

Luke promised to do so, unable to help the slight sting of disappointment in him. No matter how much his muscles ached and how tired he was at the end of a lesson, he never really wanted it to end. Nevertheless, he took his leave of Vader, then exited his quarters.

He walked in the corridors, finding his path to his squadron's own rooms without any problem now. It was hard to think he had been here for several months now; it felt both like forever, and like he'd just arrived yesterday.

A sliver of hesitation slowed down his step as he walked past the simulators room. He still hadn't managed to succeed in Vader's impossible exercise. Granted, since that fateful day two weeks ago, he hadn't really had time to think about it. But now he supposed he had a little more time to practise... After all, Vader hadn't told Lt. Tanbris how long he would be keeping Luke, just that he needed him for his now infamous “flying lessons.” And he didn't really feel like coming back to the squadron to prepare the Empire Day parade. The ceremonial and formality of the entire affair reminded him too much of the first weeks of Academy training, and it felt like a loss of time. It wasn't really all that hard to get in line at parade rest and to wait for orders; Luke had no idea why this involved so much preparation and talk about the greatness of the Empire. Finally figuring out the solution to the exercise would be much more productive.

He wavered for a few more seconds, then decided against it. That was irresponsible of him. He was already lucky enough to have escaped the morning's lectures about Imperial history and purpose, which everyone practically knew by heart. He owed it to his squad to suffer through the rest of it with them. He would have enough time after Empire Day to try and find out the trick at last.

When he got back to the squadron quarters, there was nobody inside but Lt. Tanbris.

“Good lesson, Ensign?” he asked Luke.

“Yes, sir,” Luke answered. “Uh, where are all the others?”

“Meeting room three,” the lieutenant said, before looking back at his datapad and sighing. “I swear there is always as many messages and paperwork to go through on the week of Empire Day alone as there is the rest of the year...”

Luke commiserated with him, then thanked him and went to the meeting room.

Like the officer had told him, the rest of the squadron was there, looking at tomorrow's schedule on the projector. Playful quips erupted from the other pilots.

“So you're skipping the presentations now?” Boomer said.

“Can't you get Vader to give us a free pass, too?” Cosmo asked.

“Sure, why do you think I'm still here?” Luke quipped back.

There were snickers in the room. 

Only Qorl stayed quiet. He gave Luke a stiff nod, to which Luke answered with a wave and a smile. The man then turned back to the holoprojection as if completely disinterested in the new arrival, but Luke could see the shadow of a relieved smile on his face.

Everything had returned to normal, and Luke was more than happy to take his place among his squad mates again.

*******

The time to welcome the Emperor came much too soon to Vader, and yet he couldn't wait until the day was over.

He strode across the hangar with a phalanx of Stormtroopers behind him, grateful his mask was concealing his sore expression. Around him, all the soldiers that weren't needed to operate the ship stood in formation, their backs straight and their voices silent, a great and daunting welcoming committee for the ruler of the galaxy.

Every year that passed, he hated Empire Day more.

Not only did the memories of the past haunt him even more relentlessly than any other moment of the year. This sinister time he would have gladly spent in mourning and solitude had to be celebrated, too. The whole galaxy was made to rejoice as he remembered everything he had lost.

For everyone else, this was a date of change and renewal, the coming of a new age. For him, it was all he had ever treasured going up in ashes.

Even with Palpatine, the one person he still had left, things would never be the same. His thoughts spiralled further down the abyss of resentment and despair as he knelt before the arriving shuttle, alone in the middle of standing men. He longed for their former conversations, for the praise and the affection, for Palpatine to confide in him again, before he called him master. Now there seemed to be an unbreakable wall between them, nothing but dry servitude remaining of their former friendship. Vader had long accepted he would never understand where he had gone wrong, what he had done for their bond to deteriorate so.

He had failed to notice as his mentor and friend slowly grew away from him, the way he had remained blind to Obi-Wan's betrayal.

Slowly the shuttle landed, and his engines powered down. Everything would be over soon enough, Vader thought. And then, at last, he could meet with his spy, who had sent him an extremely promising report just this morning, and whose information he couldn't wait to hear. It would be a welcome distraction from the whole ordeal.

But not now. At present, he had a ruler to welcome, soldiers to lead, and an Empire to honour.

The ramp came down. Slowly, the robed figure of the Emperor walked down, aiding himself with his stick, so frail and old-looking for who couldn't see. But Vader knew his hood hid lines traced by the greatest resolve, and eyes shining with the hardest steel.

He remained kneeling with his head bowed until his master approached him. 

“Rise, my friend,” he told him too softly for anyone else to hear, and Vader obeyed. Palpatine had never stopped calling him that, and the word blew a bitter hole in Vader's chest.

“Master,” Vader answered, despite how much he hated it at present. “You do us a great honour.”

The Emperor waved his hand.

“Nonsense. It was time I finally acknowledged your hard work. You more than deserve it.”

Vader did his best to repress an exasperated gesture. If Palpatine knew him at all, he would be aware he didn't care for this kind of pomp, and much preferred to be left to his own devices. Especially on this day.

Palpatine seemed to hesitate, in a way Vader couldn't know if it was an act or if it was true, before continuing.

“I do have to admit, however, that celebrations are not all I am here for.”

Alarms flared in Vader's mind. He frowned, but he didn't say a word, knowing Palpatine would hear his unspoken question. The Emperor looked back at him for never-ending seconds, thoughtful.

“I apologise in advance – for the news I bring... The information has come to me very recently, and there was no time to impart it to you before now.”

“News?” Vader asked. His stomach lurched in confusion and worry. What news could warrant this kind of warning? Was it another of his schemes? He hoped it had nothing to do with Lars...

“Everything will become clear,” the Emperor answered. “For now, I think we shouldn't keep our troops waiting.”

Vader wanted to insist. He wanted to demand explanations now, to require the Emperor cease his games and tell him outright. But he knew it would be pointless to do so. Swallowing his alarm and his curiosity, he turned towards his admiral and gestured for him to commence.

And so the ceremony started. Orders were shouted, heels were slammed, as group after squadron the soldiers paraded and came to salute their Emperor. Vader stood at his side, watching his men march with pride and dignity, pace and posture perfectly mastered, more regular than droids. It was impressive to witness, so many men in such a perfect ensemble.

Then they finished, and with a last shout and a deafening salute, they fell motionless, waiting for their Emperor's response.

They stood at attention as the elderly man reviewed each of them in silence, Vader at his side with his arms in his back. The unease of the men was palpable, their anticipation rising under the intense scrutiny of the ruler of the Empire.

Finally, he spoke.

“Loyal soldiers, in the name of the Empire, I would like to extend my deepest thanks to you for your dedicated service. You have been personally selected to serve on the flagship of my most trusted lieutenant, hand picked among the elite to protect our glorious nation. That is an achievement each of you should be proud of.”

He paused, watching as they brightened under his praise.

“However,” he continued with a colder edge in his voice, “just as even in the purest material, imperfections can be found, thus even this highly trained body has not stayed immune to the enemy's treachery.”

Another silence, loaded with the implications of the unexpected words.

“Who here bears the name Luke Lars?”

Vader's guts did a horrible somersault. Was that what Palpatine had been speaking about? Had he somehow found out about their plans, or changed his mind about Vader training the boy? A thousand fear-borne thoughts went through his mind, even as he forced himself to stand still and watch.

For a couple of seconds, there was no answer, stunned tension ripe in the air. Then the boy took a step forward and looked the Emperor in the eye.

“I do, your Majesty,” he said with a bow.

The Emperor looked him up and down, appraising him. Then he raised a hand, and Stormtroopers advanced to seize the young pilot.

Startled, Lars cried out and struggled as they bound his hands behind his back, looking straight into the Emperor's eyes while the older man came closer to him. Slowly, with eerie calm, Palpatine tilted his chin up with two pale and spidery fingers.

“So young,” he deplored, “to have committed such severe offences...”

“What are you talking about?” the boy shouted. His terror was obvious on his features.

“You are a traitor to the Empire,” said the Emperor, and Vader's mind spun. “Not content to commit insubordination and disrespect your commanding officers, you engaged in treasonous activity, lied, duped the State and your superiors...”

“I did nothing of the sort!” the young man cut him off, trying to reign in his fear. “I-I made a few mistakes, I haven't been as respectful as I should have, that's true, but I'd never betray the Empire, I've always served loyally!”

“Have you?” the Emperor snapped back, his grip tightening on his jaw. “Will you deny you actively took part in several seditious meetings at the Academy, and helped two of your fellow cadets defect from the Navy? You covered for them instead of reporting them as was your duty, and supported them in each of their rebellious endeavours, making yourself an accomplice to their felony!”

Vader looked in astonishment as the boy dropped his head and closed his eyes in anguish, his breath quickening. Letting go of his chin, the Emperor took a step back to address all those present.

“But these are not the only unlawful acts he committed,” he went on. “His treachery goes even further back, from his very entrance at the Academy. He entered his application under a false name to hide his identity, going so far as to forge official documents, betraying his benefactors' trust before he was even accepted.”

The young man was rigid in the troopers' grasp, but still he said nothing, his gaze riveted to the pristine floor. Vader watched him, dumbfounded, unable to believe it. Surely he couldn't let this stand... any moment now, he would look up and protest his innocence...

The Emperor was still looking at him with a condemning gaze.

“Will you deny being guilty of these charges... young Luke _Skywalker_?”

Vader's heart missed a beat, his respirator quickening, the pain of a blaster bolt hitting his chest.

The boy's head snapped up.

“Please. Please, you don't understand,” he said, panicked desperation creeping into his tone. He looked around for support, but nobody provided it to him. “It was the only way my aunt and uncle would let me apply. I never meant to cause trouble, I promise!”

“Because they knew you were of _Jedi_ blood,” replied the Emperor, spitting the epithet, the damning last blow upon all the accusations laid on him. “How right they were to fear for you... you certainly live up to your traitorous ancestors.”

“No!” the boy cried out. He tried to step forward, but the troopers restraining him didn't let him. His face was white as a sheet. “I'm innocent, I swear I am, I never betrayed the Empire!”

In their frightened wandering, his eyes found Vader's, piercing him with uncanny precision.

“Please...”

But Vader didn't react, too stunned to do anything but stare into the imploring blue irises, whose familiarity suddenly made sense. _Luke Skywalker... Jedi blood..._ His master's voice rang into his head, petrifying him by its unthinkable implications.

No. It was impossible, it couldn't be true... how could it? His child was dead, had been for nearly two decades...

“Take him away,” ordered the Emperor with a dismissive gesture.

“NO!”

The boy struggled, dug his feet in the ground, thrashed about like a demented man against the guards that were trying to take him. Finally, one of the troopers struck him in the head with the butt of his blaster. He grunted and stopped moving.

“I do not think it would be wise to add resisting arrest to the list of your crimes,” the Emperor chided, with a cold, teasing smile.

That made the young man freeze as he considered the direness of his situation. All fight seemed to leave him as a shaky sigh escaped his lips, and he bowed his head in distress, allowing his jailers to drag him away without further resistance.

Once the sound of their steps had faded, the Emperor addressed the crowd again.

“Let our hearts be untroubled and our minds remain strong, even in the face of such an unfortunate event. For even though evil may try to hide at the very heart of our organisation, our unity cannot be broken by lone individuals seeking to seed discord. Our resolve is too strong and our courage too determined...”

Vader wasn't listening. He was petrified, unable to believe what had just transpired.

It must be a coincidence. For all he knew, there were other Skywalkers on Tatooine; he and his mother couldn't have been the only ones. He must come from another branch of distant relatives, or just a completely other family. It was the most logical explanation.

And yet, now that the thought had occurred to him, there was no forgetting it. There were too many coincidences. The boy was exactly nineteen years old, an excellent pilot, strong in the Force, born on Empire Day... How many times had Vader been irritated to his resemblance to a young Jedi of the past? How often had his heart constricted painfully, seeing the ghost of his departed wife in his face? Even the Force seemed to be confirming it, singing of truth around him.

But he had never put things together, never envisioned what was impossible to imagine.

All this time he had thought him dead. For twenty years he had mourned him, two endless decades of useless grief, that could have been avoided had he only known to look...

All this time they had spent together since he had been stationed on his ship, and Vader had never even known his real name.

He couldn't move, submerged by the potency of his emotions. Wonder and joy – his child lived! He was alive, at his side! – warred with anger and betrayal, as well as despair when he thought of all the time they'd lost. 

Had the boy longed for his father, the way he'd wanted his lost child back? Had he known all along, and voluntarily hidden this fact from him, or had he, too, been fed lies about the fate of his family?

It was still difficult to think of him and the unborn baby he'd grieved for as the same person, but he found it became easier the more he thought of it. A small smile found his face, in the middle of his turmoil, as he tried to imagine the boy's reaction...

He was torn from his thoughts by a shout at the Empire's glory and a salute to acclaim the end of the Emperor's speech. The soldiers were told to return to their stations, and Palpatine approached Vader again.

He put a hand on Vader's arm, who felt his touch burn the metal bone even through the leather.

“I am sorry you had to learn it like this,” he said, very quietly. “The special ISB agent I had appointed only came back to me this morning. We need to continue with the celebrations as if nothing was amiss, of course, but the boy must be transferred to Imperial Centre in the next days to be interrogated and prosecuted. I wish it weren't necessary... but if he is a traitor, action must be taken regardless of his blood.”

A traitor. His child. His apprentice. An unpleasant sensation awakened in Vader's guts. Naturally, the Force would be so cruel as to let him reunite with his son, and take him away from him in the same movement...

His reply was mechanical, stunned, without much thought.

“It will be as you wish, my master.”

Every year, he hated Empire Day more.


End file.
